


In unlikely places

by Drago



Category: Gotham (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Depression, Erm., F/M, Happy Ending, I'm not sure how it's going to end yet, It will be happy but will it be Gallavich?, M/M, Mechanic Mickey, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of Murder, Mickey gets a car, Prison, They get what they deserve, Threesome, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unsafe Sex, Violence, i mean probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5723869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drago/pseuds/Drago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prison might not be juvie, but this is where Mickey meets his redhead. Another one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mickey has been told before that prison is nothing like juvie, but of course he didn’t believe it then, thinking that nothing can touch him since he is the biggest cock around. He should have known better after Terry. After just week he already knows that this time he’s been terribly wrong. Juvie was almost like a pleasant spa in comparison with prison. Here, he is one of the smallest, youngest guys, a walking target for the criminals who have spent half of their lives in there. Unlike most of the men here, he isn’t really a hardened criminal, he is more like an unfortunate kid. Pimping, drug dealing and everything else he did is nothing in comparison with what others are in for. He didn’t even really try to kill Sammi, for God’s sake. He can fight dirty, and he does, but being alert all the time is nerve-wracking and exhausting. He won’t be bale to do it for a long time. It doesn’t get any better after Ian’s name appears above his heart. It actually gets so much worse after one lapse of judgment that informs everyone that he is a bitch without an owner. All he can do is try to watch his own back and fight back with everything he has, but it’s only a matter of time before someone manages to fuck him against his will, or simply fuck him up. It’s better if he accepts it before it happens. Ironically, it’s no longer difficult after Ian’s visit. It makes him numb to everything that is happening around him.  
His cellmate, whose name he can’t be bothered to remember, is annoying as fuck, but at least he is harmless. He is a bony weirdo who accepts that he wouldn’t stand a chance against Mickey, so he doesn’t even try. Mickey feels like he is living with a mere shadow of a person, which suits him just fine. He doesn’t need friends any more than he needs enemies.  
Prison days are boring and bleak, even fighting gets boring after a while, especially when you don’t want to do it. All he wants is to be left alone for eight years. The prison psychologist says he is depressed. Mickey says the guy is full of shit. The exchange ends up with them banging, but the reasoning behind it is hard to explain, and Mickey swears it won’t happen again.  
Fights break out almost every day, but he isn’t afraid of those. They are easy to avoid when you aren’t the one who has to release all the pent up frustrations. What he is afraid of is that his father will find him. They are in the same prison. He hasn’t seen Terry yet, but it’s the most terrifying thing he can imagine happening. Terry’s been in and out of prison for years, he’s had enough time to make connections. Not friends because his dad doesn’t do those, but he was always good at making people owe him. Once Terry finds out Mickey is here the young man is as good as dead, and for some reason he doesn’t want to die just yet. Maybe in a year or two, three months aren’t enough to break him completely.  
Svetlana’s visits, when she comes with Yevgeny, are the only moments he feels almost fine. But the visits are few and far between, and sometimes Mickey catches himself forgetting what his son looks like with how quickly the boy changes. He blames it on the environment. In prison every minute feels like an hour, and when five months pass, it already feels like years. He understands that prison isn’t the best place for a child, but he simply wishes he could see his son more. Svetlana promises to visit more often, and a week later she files for a divorce.  
Between Svetlana and Ian, he learns that promises mean nothing. 

He only ever enjoyed showering when it got him laid, when Ian was doing it with him, and if he could he would never shower in prison. Every evening he has to face the smirking faces of prison officers waiting for a show. They won’t help him, they never help anyone in the bathrooms. They stop fights in the yard and other places where it’s about spilling blood. Getting some fun from unwilling participants seems to be their entertainment. Mickey is more than sure that they come home and jerk off thinking about the things they saw happen. It probably doesn’t need to be mentioned that Mickey doesn’t hold prison guards in high regard. His hatred doesn’t come from the things they’ve done, but rather from the ones they haven’t.  
It hasn’t even been five minutes before one of the tall, beefy guys leers at him with a smarmy smile. He is a new addition, but his tattoos suggest that it’s not his first time in prison, and Mickey’s heard about him already.  
“Here kitty, kitty” the guy intones, “sweet little kitten. Wanna have some fun tonight?”  
“Fuck off.” He is pushed against the slippery wall, one strong hand holding him by the jaw.  
“The less you struggle, the less it hurts,” his attacker singsongs. It’s not true, everyone knows it isn’t. The guy is a serial rapist who takes more pleasure from hurting his victims, than from fucking them. He’s been arrested less than a month ago, but there were already two victims in the prison. He is quite playful with Mickey, like it’s just a game they are playing. Only for Mickey this game isn’t amusing.  
He is trying to figure out how to knee the asshole without slipping on the wet tiles when he hears a yelp and the grip on his jaw loosens. Someone decided to interrupt their fight, a pale hand is holding his assailants dick in what seems to be a very strong, definitely painful grip.  
“That’s not a very nice thing to do, is it? Trying to stick it in someone unwilling, hmm? That’s a fucked up thing to do, even I know it!” the new guy’s voice sounds both young and grown-up at the same time. Mickey can see the fingers digging deeper into the softness of the rapist’s cock, and even he has to cringe while the guy cries out. “Won’t happen again, will it? ‘Cause if it does, I won’t have any problems finding you. We can see how much you like having your dick chewed on.” With one last squeeze the rapist is released, and he goes down, knees hitting the tiles with an audible crack.  
Mickey dares to look up to see the face of someone who, he hates to admit, helped him. Despite warm water hitting his back, his blood runs cold, whole body freezing, completely forgetting about everyone in the room. It can’t be real. The guy is… He is… he has Ian’s face. They stare at each other, the guy clearly amused or maybe that’s just his face. The longer Mickey looks at him, the more his muscles relax. There are differences which his brain chose to ignore at first. The guy is definitely a bit older than Ian, his skin even paler and not covered in hundreds of freckles, eyes light green rather than hazel, red hair slightly brighter. His body reminds Mickey of a spider, the muscles aren’t as prominent as Ian’s used to be. And then there is a scar on his neck. Mickey knows these kinds of scars, the older man had to be stabbed. Neck wounds which leave scars of this size are usually fatal. Interesting.  
Mickey refuses to feel uncomfortable when the guy’s gaze falls on his chest where Ian’s name stands up against his white skin. It’s the dumbest decision of his life, but that’s for him to know. Or so he thinks before the man speaks again.  
“Huh. I see you met my brother.”

***

“Out. Out, you boring little wimp!” Mickey immediately recognizes the newcomer’s voice, he doesn’t even have to look up from the magazine he is reading. His cellmate leaves so fast that he almost looses a shoe, that’s quite amusing seeing as their ‘guest’ is at least ten years younger than Mickey’s cellmate.  
“Bathrooms here suck, no privacy whatsoever.” The bed dips under the added weight, and Mickey can no longer ignore the other man.  
“What do you want?” After the initial shock of meeting Ian’s doppelganger he came to the conclusion that associating with another ginger won’t be good for his health.  
“So many things, seriously. Like. Ice cream would be nice. Or a steak. Or you know what? Burger but with a steak inside! I miss food, the stuff they give us is disgusting, but mostly I wanted to introduce myself. Jerome Valeska, very nice to meet you.”  
Mickey doesn’t shake hands, but the bony fingers wiggle in front of his face, and somehow he knows that they won’t go away until he does what is asked of him. When his hand touches Jerome’s the other man shakes it vigorously, looking genuinely pleased. His smiling face is a bit unsettling in the cell’s dim light, with shadows emphasizing his sharp features.  
“Mickey Milkovich.”  
“Oh, I know. I asked around, wanted to know who is the brave guy wearing my brother’s name on his chest.”  
“You say he is your brother?”  
“Different last names, he has no idea I exist. I know, I know, confusing. Long story short, ‘cause it’s boring. His mother. Well, technically our mother, left me with a circus bitch, I grew up with her. Some time ago I did a bit of digging, discovering my roots, learning about the past, blah, blah, blah. I came to Chicago to see my real family. No idea where Monica is, Clayton is a boring old fuck, but Ian looks awfully a lot like me, doesn’t he? I didn’t feel like introducing myself. That, and I landed in prison. His family looks nice though, nicer than my bitch of a mother. Though it doesn’t matter anymore.”  
The speech pattern is unusual, there are pauses and breaks in weird places. Mickey doesn’t claim to be a master of English, but even he can tell that there is something wrong about the way Jerome speaks. But that’s probably just his quirk, along with how he seems to be constantly moving, his body twitching almost unnoticeably, restless. He is like a curious bird, but more intense in how he seems to be unable to look away from Mickey’s eyes.  
“We are going to be a great team, M. Great team like this prison hasn’t seen yet.”  
He doesn’t understand what Jerome is talking about, but it becomes clear when a week later he gets a new cellmate. He has no idea how Jerome pulled it off, and maybe it should frighten him, but he finds himself amused instead. From this moment they are practically inseparable. When one of the prison thugs corners Mickey and gives him a black eye, Jerome breaks the thug’s arm. Mickey knows it’s been Jerome even though no one has seen or heard anything. No one ever seems to see anything Jerome does. It’s like having a big, slightly unhinged pet. You know it’s potentially dangerous, yet you can’t help but feel attached to it.  
With some encouragement Mickey starts working out again under the watchful eyes of his new acquaintance. Together, they practice boxing and fighting, and he doesn’t even notice when other people start steering clear of them. Jerome has a bit of a reputation, the prisoners whisper about him being crazy, dangerous. As if arsonists, bombers and murderers who gossip about the redhead are harmless.  
Mickey doesn’t know why Jerome is in prison. He doesn’t need to. He feels safe around the older man. The same feeling of safety used to be a part of his relationship with Ian, and maybe it indicates that he should be careful, but he doesn’t want to be that kind of a person. Ian’s name on his skin is a constant reminder of his past life, but Mickey pushes through it and keeps going with Jerome at his side.  
They don’t talk about Ian. Jerome is chatty, and sometimes Mickey wants to gag him, but they never talk about Ian or Jerome’s family. It’s not a conscious decision that they make, but they skirt around it so successfully that Mickey thinks about his ex-boyfriend only when he is shaving shirtless and can see the name in the mirror. There is no denying that it still hurts, but the longer they are apart, the more he resents Ian for everything that happened and that has been the younger man’s fault. He used to be stupidly blind, blaming Ian’s abuse, Ian’s every wrong move on the disorder. But maybe to be able to move on he has to face the fact that some of the bad calls have been Ian’s, not his illness’, choices. Maybe idolizing your boyfriend and making excuses for him is not how the relationship should work.  
It’s been barely eight months, and he hasn’t seen Yev for over a month, when Jerome drops a bomb on him.  
“He got himself a new love. Your ex, my brother,” the second the older man’s lips open Mickey wishes they have stayed shut. He wants Jerome to shut up, to shut the fuck up. He squeezes his eyes shut instead, as if not seeing his cellmate would equal not hearing him. “Nice little twink. Clean and fresh. Looks nothing like you, better background too. Nice catch, I reckon. Doubt he is a good lay though.”  
“How do you know?” his voice shakes. His fucking voice shakes, and he can’t stop it like a wuss, like a whiny little bitch.  
“I have my sources. I thought you should know. You have to let him go, M.”  
Jerome is right, but Mickey just won’t stop shaking.  
“Come on, M. You know how they call us? I’m the Crazy J, and you’re the Bull. Isn’t it cool?  
Double trouble. Come on, M. Let’s find your dad and beat the shit out of him. Will that make you feel better?” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Who is a faggot now, huh? Who is a bitch, dad?”  
It makes him feel better. It’s one of the most glorious moments in his life. The rush of endorphins leaves him drunk and dizzy, the sight of his father’s bloodied and broken body still fresh in his mind. Mickey almost goes overboard, few more kicks and Terry would be dead, but Jerome pulls him away saying that the old man is not worth it. He is, as usually, right, but it doesn’t change the fact that the younger man wants to do it anyway. Mickey doesn’t even care if they get caught, he finally got to do something he dreamt about ever since he was a child, and he watched Terry beat his mother.  
Jerome laughs his disturbing, crazy laugh that resonates through the corridors while they run. In the cell he helps Mickey clean the blood off the face where it got sprayed with the red liquid and knuckles, careful not to irritate the already sore skin. Mickey can feel his lips stretch in a wide smile, matching the one on the older man’s face. He can’t even control it.   
“There it is,” the redhead says, pinching his cheek. “That’s what I want to see all the time.”   
“You are ridiculous.”  
“And Terry is a fucking pussy. Who da man?!”  
“Shut the fuck up Jerome,” they both laugh, clutching at each other like they are just two boys who played a trick on Mick’s father, rather than two adults who beat him up.   
In the evening Jerome brings him a band aid. He doesn’t get it at first, his knuckles aren’t hurting that bad, but the redhead keeps looking at him expectantly until Mickey realizes what the other man wants from him. He slowly peels off the orange uniform and the white shirt, and lets Jerome put the band aid over the shitty tattoo, covering it completely.   
Jerome’s smile is softer now, his fingers still resting on the adhesive bandage, smoothing it against Mickey’s skin.  
“Terry doesn’t matter. Ian doesn’t matter. You are not his anymore.”  
“Whose am I then?” he asks, feeling unbalanced.   
“You are your own person again. Take a deep breath, doesn’t it feel great?” Mickey breathes, inhaling the stale prison air, catching a whiff of Jerome’s clean scent, for some reason he always smells like soap and rarely ever sweats. It does feel amazing, and it’s funny how he can suddenly taste freedom while behind the bars. Maybe your head can be the worst prison even if you are not mentally ill. 

The cell smells like oranges. It doesn’t take Mickey long to locate the culprit, a perfectly round orange resting on his pillow, its bright colour contrasting with the grayish white of the sheets. He picks it up and presses his nose against the fruit. He never thought he would miss fruit. Beer would be nice, but sometimes he dreams about juicy steaks and ripe fruit, and he knows he isn’t the only one. The guys here not only gossip like teenage girls but also talk about food like them, all the time. Especially during the meals when they get brown mush and are told to enjoy it. It’s hard to imagine anyone could enjoy it unless they were on a nutraloaf for more than a day.   
He slowly peels the skin off the orange and splits it into small chunks, offering half of it to the smiling Jerome.   
“Nah, it’s for you, I ate mine already.”  
“Thank you.”  
“You need some fruit in your diet, you are looking a bit pale.” Mickey looks at the older man incredulously. They are equally pale, but Mickey at least has some freckles to make up for the overall whiteness.   
A moan escapes his lips once the orange juice spills in his mouth, and he can hear Jerome chuckle, so he gives him a finger without opening eyes. He needs some time alone with his orange, even if the redhead is the one who got it for him in the first place. Jerome doesn’t seem to mind, he just sits there staring at Mickey as he eats. The staring used to bother the younger man, but he learned to accept it as something peculiar to the redhead. And it’s kind of nice to have someone’s undivided attention, Ian used to look at him like that for a while.   
“You have a guest, Milkovich. A girl,” the guard shouts just as Mickey is finishing the last chunk. He snarls when he sees the guard’s lecherous smile. He has to be new, the whole prison knows that Mickey is a fag,.  
He wishes it was Mandy, but he knows that’s a ridiculous thing to wish for. He doubts she knows where he is. He hopes she doesn’t because that would mean she doesn’t give a fuck about him, since she didn’t even try to call. He doesn’t expect much from his brothers, though Iggy did visit him once, but Mandy called him her favourite brother, and he wants to believe she hasn’t been lying. But maybe it all depends on what Ian told her, if they talked at all. Ian stole her from him.  
It’s not Mandy. It’s not even Svetlana. His throat clenches when he sees the visitor, and he fights the urge to turn back and walk away.  
Jerome is obviously waiting when he comes back, and there is nothing casual in the question when he asks, “Was it your sister?”   
“Not mine. Yours.”  
“What?” the redhead tilts his head like a big, curious bird.  
“Debbie. It was Debbie,” Mickey blinks rapidly, but the tears just won’t go away. He has no idea how the youngest Gallagher girl managed to get to the prison, he didn’t ask while they were chatting. Fiona probably doesn’t know, she wouldn’t let Debbie come alone, that is if she would let her come at all.   
The girl looked almost relieved when she saw Mickey, like she wanted to see him for a long time. And he is not blind, he saw the dark circles clumsily covered with too much make up and proving that he isn’t the only one who is having a rough time. Debbie deflected his question though, and she cheerfully chatted about what is happening in the outside world, carefully avoiding talking about Ian or any other Gallaghers. She told him that Svetlana moved in with the Fishers. For some reason it enraged him, but he tried to keep his cool. He might have not succeeded if Debbie’s giggling has been any indication.  
It’s been the nicest visit so far, so he has no idea why it feels like he is going to suffocate. He hopes to the God he doesn’t believe in that no one paid her to do this.

***

The psychologist’s office is plain and boring. The desk is empty but for a single file, and bolted to the floor. That’s the same desk he got fucked on the last time he was here to talk. He came all over it. The memory makes him smile. He can imagine the psychologist wiping it clean, pretending that nothing happened, ashamed of his momentary weakness.  
“I’ve been told that you made a friend,” Lowell’s voice is deep and snotty, Mickey can’t remember why he let the guy fuck him. He had to be desperate for a dick because no other force could make him do it again. He ignores the question, it’s pointless. Gossips spread like a wildfire here.  
“Jerome Valeska,” Lowell doesn’t even try to mask the disdain when he spits the name out. “You seem better, not as unhappy, but he isn’t good for you.”  
“Aren’t you contradicting yourself? I’m better, but I’m not?” Mickey mocks. He spreads his legs in a relaxed pose which he knows always annoys people.  
“Jerome is like drugs, Mickey. Everything seems amazing at first, then you discover the truth, but it’s already too late. I can’t tell you what he’s done, but it hasn’t been pretty. You are a good guy, don’t let him destroy it for you. I will try to transfer him.”  
“I’m a good guy? Oh yeah, I was such a good guy when I let you put your dick in me, wasn’t I? But guess what,” Mickey leans in, “if you do anything to send Jerome away I will tell everyone about it. And then I will start hell like this dump hasn’t seen before. He is the only good thing I have in this fucking shithole, he is gone and you are gone too.”  
“You have no idea how sick he is.”  
Half an hour later Mickey is back in his cell, and for once it’s better than any other place he could be in. It’s just him and the redhead playing cards, ignoring the outside bustle while everyone is preparing for dinner. He isn’t hungry, and Jerome seems to eat only when Mickey eats. They don’t burn that many calories, even when they have auto mechanics classes. If it weren’t for the other man Mickey would have never thought about it. He never had any useful skills that could land him a proper job, Terry always took care of that. They’ve been raised to think that being a pimp is the best they can do, but Jerome took one look at him and told him to sign up for the course. The older man did it as well, but everything he touched either blew up or got damaged beyond repair, so most of the time he watches while they work on acquiring new skills.  
Mickey didn’t know he needed a confidence boost until it happened. He was finally good at something that didn’t involve breaking the kneecaps or running from the cops. That’s what their teacher says. He has no reasons to lie, and he keeps roasting Jerome for his absolute lack of abilities, so Mickey believes his words.  
The redhead, for all his unpredictability and anger issues, does more for Mickey than anyone else has ever done, Ian included. He thinks about what Lowell said just before he left, and realizes that it changes nothing. Jerome is crazy, so what. Mickey knows crazy. Crazy is all he knows, and if the redhead was normal he wouldn’t probably know how to deal with it.

Jerome paces. He walks from the wall to the bars, wall to bars, wall to bars, wall to bars… Mickey tires just from watching him do it. He’s been doing it for half an hour now, restless and distressed. As far as Mickey knows, nothing happened. There’s been an incident with Pepe where they had to use a bit of force, but it hasn’t been different from any other fight they’ve been in so far. There was more blood, but Jerome seemed to enjoy it like he always does.  
“It’s just too much, I can’t stand it!” he suddenly shouts. “People here are driving me nuts. I want to blow up the bathroom, feed the pigs to the rats. Everyone here is so fucking pathetic,” he spits out with so much venom in his voice that Mickey unconsciously moves closer to the wall, the cot creaking under him. Jerome turns to look at him then, his moves fast and sharp like predator’s, and he yanks his own hair, almost ripping it out.  
“Fuck!” he shouts again, and it’s only a matter of time before someone comes to check what is happening. “I have these thoughts. Always, always had them, you know. That I just need to kill them, all of them. They are walking corpses anyway. What a waste of space!”  
Jerome falls to his knees and crawls towards Mickey’s cot, climbs on it and straddles the younger man’s hips, “They are so fucking bleak.”  
Mickey tries to breathe evenly, but it’s difficult when the other man’s white face twisted into an ugly grimace looms right above his.   
“I want to rip them apart, show them who is the real boss,” Jerome’s fingers twitch as if he is ripping something, but then he caresses Mickey’s face, thumbs rubbing his cheekbones soothingly, “but you… You, I would never hurt. You, I want to protect. I will poison anyone who tries to hurt you.”  
Mickey thinks he can see tears in the redhead’s eyes before they are quickly blinked away. He has no idea what is happening in Jerome’s brain, it’s a completely unknown territory for him, but suddenly he feels calm. His fingers curl around one bony wrist, the skin cold against his.   
“It’s alright. I believe you. You’ve been helping me this whole time, Crazy J.”  
Mickey celebrates the first anniversary of life completely fucking him over by getting a tattoo which is unrelated to anyone he knows. Jerome chooses it for him, a colony of small bats on the back of his neck, disappearing in his hair. It looks surprisingly nice for the equipment they have, and this time it’s done by a real tattoo artist who ended up in prison for setting his girlfriend on fire. Jerome gets only one bat right above his left nipple which Mickey finds hilarious. When they are done the tattooer comments on them having matching inks, and the redhead breaks all fingers of his right hand. He won’t be doing any work anytime soon.  
“Hey, M, want to break some more bones?” Jerome asks cheerfully.  
“Why do you always call me that? M?”  
“I don’t want to call you Mickey.”  
“It’s my name.”  
“Everyone uses it. He used it. I want something that is only mine.”  
Mickey considers it for a minute and then sighs.  
“My full name is Mikhailo. Fuck my family for being Ukrainian.”  
“Mikhailo,” Jerome’s pronunciation is perfect, and the younger man doesn’t even know why it surprises him anymore. The redhead is a walking mystery, which is why Mickey should learn to accept that he will never truly figure him out. Mickey, on the other hand, is a simple guy. He wonders why Jerome likes him at all. 

Debbie keeps her promise. She brings him things, calls when she can’t come. And every time she looks more exhausted than before. She tells him that she misses him, that she wants him to be there. She finally confesses that Fiona forced her to have an abortion, and that she can’t get over it, especially since Fiona keeps being a bitch about the whole incident. She cries, and he can’t even touch her fucking skin. She says that she hates her life, and he clenches his fist so hard that his nails break the skin. He touches the glass, and she presses her hand against his. Suddenly he has another sister he never knew he wanted. A sister who is softer, gentler than Mandy.  
He hates prison more than ever, and there is nothing he can do. He gets into three fights after the last visit, his nose gets broken, but it’s still not enough. He cries, and Jerome stifles the sounds with his hand, not wanting anyone else to hear Mickey at his lowest.   
“Do you want out?” the redhead whispers in his ear.  
“Yes,” he whispers back, still clinging to the older man.  
“I will get you out then. Shh, it will be all legal. My lawyer will take care of it. The previous lawyer screwed up big time, your case is so easy Mikhailo.”  
Mickey tries to push away to be able to look Jerome in the eye, but strong arms keep hugging him.  
“Then why haven’t you done it before?”  
“Because you didn’t want out. You thought you needed to be punished, though for what crime? I have no idea. But I will get you out, and I will get myself out. I bought a house here, you know, before I went in. You don’t have to come back to your old house.”  
“With what money?”  
“A lifetime of crime has some perks, especially in Gotham.”  
Gotham is not something they ever talk about. Mickey has never been interested in the city before, but from the few times Jerome mentioned it, he doesn’t think he would like it there. He wouldn’t be able to stand the gloomy darkness, Chicago has enough dirt for his taste. If he had a choice he would choose a city that is a complete opposite of Chicago. Something bright. Something that at least gives the illusion of peace, though he doesn’t know if a city like that would accept him.   
The way Jerome doesn’t talk about Gotham tells him everything he needs to know. There is nothing in there for the older man. 

Jerome’s lawyer is very prim and proper, yet his face twists into a scowl when he reads Mickey’s file. He mutters something under his breath, it seems that he thinks Mickey’s previous lawyer has been an idiot. He is right, of course, the public defender he’s been assigned could hardly remember his case, not to mention his name. They don’t give good lawyers to scum like Mickey.   
He is fascinated by the way the man sighs, rubs his face and tries really hard not to show anger. He doesn’t even have to contribute anything, he just sits and watches as the lawyer seems to quickly lose faith in the American judiciary system. With one last heavy sigh the man promises Mickey that he will be free by the end of a month, and leaves the bemused boy alone.   
There is a hearing, or so is Mickey told, but he doesn’t need to be there. Everything is so unreal that his arm is covered in purple bruises from where he pinches himself every time Jerome mentions the case.   
They start sleeping in one bed. Mickey is both thrilled and scared, and the redhead’s presence grounds him. The older man assures him that he is also going to be free, but it’s difficult to believe. He knows, without being told, that Jerome has done some bad things. Really bad things, worse than being a pimp, thief or a drug dealer, even his lawyer can’t be that good.   
When he tells Debbie she falls completely silent, something he didn’t think was possible with the Gallaghers. She promises not to tell anyone, and by now he knows she can keep a promise. 

Like the lawyer said he is scheduled to leave just before the end of a month, and then the last night comes he is completely unprepared to be human again even if his teacher from the course said he will put in a good word for him at the garage. He is shivering in Jerome’s arms, scared like a child.   
“I told you I’m leaving as well. You could see how efficient my methods are.”  
“Don’t lie.”  
Jerome is quiet for a while, and Mickey listens to other inmates tossing and turning in their cots, coughs and snores ensuring that the prison is never completely silent. The redhead’s chest vibrates against his back when the man starts talking again.  
“I liked a girl once. Back in Gotham. She was a mean bitch. That’s why I liked her. Barbara. That was her name. I don’t think she liked me much, probably thought I’m just a crazy boy. Not that she wasn’t right,” Jerome chuckles. “For a long, long time she was the only person I ever liked. I fucked people, but liking them? No. But now, I like you. I like you a lot, Mikhailo. I’m not going to leave you alone.”  
Mickey’s heart beats so hard he thinks it might burst out of his chest when he turns around to press his chapped lips against Jerome’s. The other man doesn’t taste like anything, not even the peppermint toothpaste they share, but their kiss is warm and wet, and it’s the softest kiss he’s ever shared with anyone. It makes him feel wanted, but it doesn’t turn hungry even when Jerome slides down his pants and starts to explore his body, nimble fingers tugging at his balls and cock, pressing into his thighs, sliding between the buttocks and rubbing the small, tight hole hidden there.  
He is gasping and whimpering into the kiss while the redhead’s wet fingers press against his opening, and he has no idea where the other man found lube, but he doesn’t care, he is just happy for the additional slick. When he masturbated he worked with spit, but that was only his fingers. Jerome hides a monster in his pants, 9 inches just like Mickey loves, but much thicker than any cock he’s ever had.   
It hurts and stings when it presses into him, and the gentle kissing provides a nice contrast to the pain. Their tongues slide against each other, Jerome sucks on his just before he bottoms out, sharp hips colliding with his ass.   
“You like it big, you do,” the redhead moans out, slamming into the pliant body.  
“Yeah, yeah, give it to me. Fuck me, Jerome.”  
Mickey wants to cry out when his thighs are forced wide open, and the thick cock hits him so much deeper, rubbing against his prostate, but he can’t, the guards will check then. Other prisoners have to know, but he doesn’t care about them, they can all go to hell.   
Jerome twists his hips and Mickey comes so hard his come hits his chin, and the older man licks him clean.  
“Put your cum in me, J, come on, breed me,” he begs, and the redhead does just that, releases his load inside Mickey’s fucked out body. He feels so empty when Jerome pulls out that he whines, and the older man quickly puts his fingers inside the stretched hole. 

The sun seems insanely bright when he leaves the building as a free man. After more than a year in prison the outside world is overwhelming, and he can’t imagine what it would be like if he spent eight years in there. He takes one last look at the ugly, old building thinking about a man, a friend, he is leaving behind. For some reason Jerome’s lawyer drives him to the new place he will call home. It’s not a big house, but it looks much better than any other house he’s ever lived in. It’s quite new, and he lets himself wonder how much blood was on the money that paid for it.   
Debbie is coming over in the evening, but right now he feels lonely. The city is bustling all around him, and he feels lonely.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to sleep, but who needs sleep, right?

When he opens the door in the evening to greet his first visitor ever, he sees Debbie looking like a wet rat, which isn’t really surprising seeing as it is raining pretty heavily, but the girl is usually the sensible one who knows how to use an umbrella. Though she is holding a lot of stuff already.  
“Are you moving in?” he asks cautiously, and her whole face brightens.  
“Can I?”  
“Seriously? Jesus, get in, we will talk inside.”  
She marches into the kitchen like she already lives here, pulls out a fluffy pink towel out of her backpack and starts drying her hair. They curl around her face, it’s kind of cute.  
“What’s the deal then?”  
“If I stay at Fiona’s house I will go crazy. And not even my idiot brother crazy, real homicidal crazy. I can’t stand it anymore, it’s not home Mickey. I thought that maybe I could stay with you.”  
“Fiona will kill me.”  
“She won’t know it’s you. I won’t tell. I just want out.”  
That’s something he can understand. Hell, he can even relate to it. He knows what it’s like when your house feels nothing like home, when drugs and alcohol seem like a good option, a perfect escape from reality. The situation at the Gallagher place doesn't seem that bad to him, but then again he isn’t a teenage girl who recently had an abortion, and whose older sister is a bossy, self-righteous bitch.  
“I can cook for you,” Debbie offers, eyes big and pleading.  
“I can cook for myself, thanks. You can crash here for now, but I will have to talk to Jerome about it.”  
“Is he getting out as well?” Mickey just shrugs. He still doesn’t believe that anyone would let the older man out, but miracles happen. That’s what he’s heard.  
He calls Jerome the next day, he can’t visit because of the job interview at the garage. It should be just a formality, but he has to show up anyway, make a good impression or whatever it is that they expect him to do. The redhead doesn’t mind Debbie staying at the house as long as Mickey is happy with it. Which he is, there are more than enough rooms for two, or three, people. Mickey promises to visit as soon as possible, and Jerome goes really quiet before he says, “Don’t visit or call right now. There is stuff I have to take care of.”  
It sounds familiar. It makes his blood freeze. He hangs up.

Letting Debbie stay is the best thing he has done in a long time, and not because the girl is almost ecstatic about her new living arrangement, although it does make him feel good about himself. It’s more that when he comes home there is warm food waiting for him, and more often than not someone to talk to. He notices that Debbie doesn’t go out all that much. She has some kind of a temporary job, and she actually does go to school, even though Mickey would be the last person to force her to do it. She also doesn’t have many friends. Like Mickey. He has Jerome, if that’s still what they are, seeing as the older man doesn’t want to see him, but apart from that he is alone. Debbie is a slightly naïve teenager, a girl, a Gallagher, but they get along pretty well for people who are so different. Or maybe they aren’t so different after all.  
She hates his movies, and he hates hers, but they both dislike watching movies alone, so they usually end up sitting on his bed and making fun of each other’s choices. This is also when Debbie is the most talkative which is a godsend when one of her completely unrealistic chick flicks is playing.  
“I told Fiona I’m staying with a friend, and she didn’t even bother to check,” she reveals one evening, munching on a triple choc cookie he baked. “She is too busy banging the gross boss guy. Lip is going to be furious when he hears about it.”  
That’s even worse than Mickey expects from Fiona. She used to at least have the parenting shit together. She used to care about her siblings, that was at least one good quality she had.  
“Are you and Jerome a couple?” Debbie asks after a while.  
“We fucked once before I left,” he doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe he just needs to tell someone.  
“Oh, cool. Hope he comes out soon, I want to meet him.”  
“He is fucking crazy Debs.”  
Debbie turns to look at him judgmentally, but then she seems to realize that he is just giving her heads up and not being a dick. She laughs then, clearly amused by his choice in partners, and even goes as far as to ruffle his hair. Movie forgotten, he starts tickling her, and she can’t fight back because he is not at all ticklish. He does it until she squeals, face completely red and eyes shining with unshed tears. So much better than her crap movie.

During the first month after the release he tries to be productive, and for the first time in his life he is doing pretty well. He knows that he has to get his shit together, no one is going to save him again. He won’t let that happen. He works his ass off, and the garage’s owner doesn’t care about his crude tattoos or bad attitude as long as he does what he is supposed to do. When Ralph talks to him, he calls Mickey ‘son’, yet it doesn’t really bother him. It isn’t the worst he’s been called, and everyone seems to be a son to Ralph, even his daughter.  
He hates to admit it, but working is good for his mental health. He feels appreciated and useful, and there is something extremely satisfying about bringing the cars back to life. When the car’s engine starts to finally hum smoothly he feels the sense of accomplishment he never experienced while dealing drugs or being a pimp.  
The next thing he does is making an appointment at a Clinic dealing with tattoo removals. The guy working there, who takes care of him during the first session, is also a tattoo artist, and he marvels at how badly done the tattoo is. Mickey almost gets angry before the guy explains that it’s actually good for him since it won’t take that many sessions.  
“Ink is shit, and it’s not as deep as it should be. You are lucky, man. The one on your neck, that’s some really good work. Chest? Absolute crap.”  
“Just like the reasoning behind it,” Mickey admits through the clenched teeth.  
“You are not the only one, you can trust me on that. I get tons of disappointed lovers.”  
The procedure doesn’t take long, and it doesn’t hurt as much as he expected it to. The guy says that it’s going to get worse, but it’s still worth it. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life with ex-boyfriend’s name on his chest. Ian couldn’t even tell him that he loved him, so no matter how much he has to pay or how much it hurts, the name has to be gone.  
“You wanna hang out in the evening?” the guy, Kurt or something, suddenly asks while spreading the soothing cream on Mickey’s skin.  
“Are you asking me out?”  
“Yeah, man. I figured, you have a dude’s name on your chest, so you are not going to beat me up, right?”  
“Thanks but, uh, I can’t. I have… someone,” Mickey stutters. He’s never really been asked out by a man.  
“Pity. You have a pretty face. But it’s good to know that there are men out there who can be faithful,” it sounds bitter, and he understands it all too well, so he smiles at the guy. It turns out that being nice sometimes pays off and can give you a small discount.  
When Debbie sees his bandaged chest she looks sad for a second before putting her brave smile on. He understands, in a way he is completely removing Ian from his life, and as angry as Debbie might be at the redhead, he is still her brother. She retires to her room without giving him a recap of her day which is something she does every day, and he thinks she might be conditioning him to care about it.  
When he wakes up the next day there are pancakes and fresh coffee waiting for him. He has no idea why Debbie feels like she needs to apologize, but he definitely enjoys the food. 

After a month of relative peace at work and a lot of internal turmoil, one night he wakes up with a start when someone suddenly jumps on his back. He instantly switches to the fight mode, but the person pinning him to the bed is holding him too tightly for him to do anything but squirm. He doesn’t even panic, all he feels is anger, even more so when something hard presses against his ass. It doesn’t take much brain power to guess what it is, not when the man on top of him gives a hard thrust. The fear doesn’t have the time to sink in before the attacker whispers into his ear, “I missed you, Mikhailo.”  
Mickey’s brain freezes, whole body going lax in Jerome’s hold. And then he sobs. It’s not quiet, it’s not subtle, it’s a loud sob that makes his whole body jerk.  
“I thought you didn’t want me anymore, after you said that I shouldn’t visit.”  
“Oh baby, I will never not want you. I needed to do something after getting out, but I didn’t want you to have to go through it with me. I went to the psychiatrist, got some pills for my head.”  
“You don’t have to,” Mickey whispers, desperate.  
“Of course I do. How else am I going to stay sane for you? Well, kind of sane,” Jerome’s breath caresses his cheek. “He didn’t want to take them? What a stupid child. Stupid, selfish child. I know I’m sick. We can still have a good life, yeah?”  
Mickey nods, still too overwhelmed to speak properly. It’s a bit hard to breathe with the redhead’s body covering his, but it feels so good to have him back. He pushes against the weight, just to feel Jerome move.  
“Fuck me, J.” The older man laughs in his ear, but he diligently fulfills the request. Mickey doesn’t even have any toys he could use yet, so after prison he only jerked off. The one time he tried to finger himself he ended feeling uncomfortable, on the verge of crying.  
So it’s a bit rough, really tight, there is burn and slight pain, and he comes all over himself without Jerome touching his dick. He falls asleep almost immediately after, the redhead’s arms wrapped around him, the cock still nestled in his ass.  
That’s how he wakes up, minus the cock, too warm with Jerome all around him. He doesn’t want to go to work, but he is a responsible adult now, so he takes a quick shower, and by the time he is done with it the redhead is awake, waiting for him in the bed. He looks tired and somehow, in the harsh morning light, he doesn’t look like Ian anymore. He just looks like Jerome. It doesn’t mean that Debbie will see him like that, so Mickey takes a few minutes explaining to the older man how he should approach her. It’s bound to freak her out one way or another, but they will at least try to soften the blow.  
Jerome takes his pills, there is a lot of them. Even more than Ian had to take, but Jerome swallows them with a smile, like he really doesn’t mind been medicated, his eyes never leaving Mickey’s face. When Mickey is ready to leave for work Debbie is long gone, and they decide that the older redhead is going to show himself once they are all home.  
The introduction goes as well as it can under the circumstances, and Debbie only has a mild panic attack after she finally faces Jerome.

***

At first Debbie pities Mickey. Jerome looks exactly like Ian, only slightly older. Apparently Monica’s and Clayton’s genes give cute, but sick, results. For a second she lets herself wonder how prettier she would be if Frank wasn’t her father.  
It takes her just few days to notice that Jerome is definitely not Ian, it doesn’t feel like living with Ian at all. She isn’t suddenly treated like a sister, most of the time she is ignored because Jerome seems to care only about Mickey. She has never seen anyone so dedicated, and the intensity of the older man’s affection is both creepy and touching. She isn’t a child, she knows that he’s done some awful things, but instead of scaring her, it makes her feel safe. Neither Mickey nor Jerome will let anything bad happen to her, and while the Milkovich may refrain from going too far, she is convinced that the older redhead will kill without batting an eye. The amusing part is that Mickey doesn’t even realize how potentially dangerous his partner is. If he knows then he is hiding it really well. Debbie knows they are living with a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.  
Jerome disappears for hours and at least once a week brings home quite a lot of money. There is no way he has a real job. Not that it’s an issue in the neighbourhood she comes from, but the slight possibility that someone really suffered makes her feel queasy. On a plus side, it gives her new clothes and a pair of really neat shoes. And Mickey is happy. She has seen him happy before, and seeing his unrestrained happiness again is enough to keep her mouth shut. Whoever said that the ignorance is no excuse clearly has never set foot in the Southside of Chicago.  
Funny enough, now that she is mostly free to do as she wishes as long as she calls Fiona once a week, she has no interest in boys and partying. She has school to worry about and work, and after everything that happened the last time she had sex it holds no appeal. Boys are too much trouble. Though she has to admit, even if it’s only to herself, that sometimes, when she walks by her flatmates’ room she can hear them having rather enthusiastic sex. And the quite high pitched moaning, which she hopes isn’t Mickey’s although subconsciously knows that it is him, excites her a bit. But it’s a safe thing to do, she has no real interest in either of them. It’s just a little bit of a not so innocent pleasure.  
She goes to one party just to prove to herself that it’s really not something she wants, and everything goes terribly wrong. She drinks a beer or two, but no more than that. She wanrders around the house, then suddenly finds herself weighted down by a guy twice her size and at least five years older, his hands all over her body. She screams, but the noise is too loud, or maybe the people simple don’t care, so no one helps her. She kicks, bites and scratches the guy, and when he lets go off her for a second, she runs as fast as she can and locks herself in one of the rooms. Then she does the only thing she can think of and calls Mickey.  
It rings and rings, and rings. It’s late, her hands are shaking, and he is probably sleeping or fucking his boyfriend, or…  
“Sup?” it’s definitely Jerome’s voice, but it makes no difference to her at the moment.  
“I need help,” she whispers, finally crying. “Pick me up, please pick me up.”  
“Give me the address.”  
That’s how it is with Jerome. No bullshit, he goes straight to the action. She gives him the instructions and then waits, much calmer than before. He doesn’t knock, he just opens the door. He must have picked the lock, but at the moment doesn’t have it in herself to admire the skill.  
“Mikhailo is sleeping. Now, show me who tried to hurt you.”  
The guy who wanted to rape her is smoking a cigarette outside with some friends, but the second his friends spot Jerome with a baseball bat they scatter around, of course they do, and the guy tries to run away as well, but Jerome grips his wrist and calmly says, “No, no, you are coming with me. We are going to have so much fun.”  
The smile that follows is absolutely terrifying, and Debbie can’t help but respond with a smile of her own. She isn’t used to getting the instant revenge, if any revenge at all. Usually, when life kicks her, she just has to take it because what else can you do as a dirt poor, teenage girl? But here is Jerome, dragging the rapist into the dark alley and beating the shit out of him. Her brother tells her not to watch, and she doesn’t, but the sounds are more than enough for her to guess that it must be painful.  
She sneaks a look when the guy stops whimpering, and he is definitely alive, but not in a very great shape. It makes her grin harder.  
“Enough?” Jerome asks as if he can’t tell himself. Maybe he can’t.  
“Yeah, let’s go home. Thank you.”  
“I didn’t do it for you,” he gives Debbie his jacket anyway.  
“I know.”  
“I did it for him.”  
“I know.”  
She is well aware that if Jerome saw someone getting raped he wouldn’t react. There is nothing in it for him. But they both know that Mickey would be upset if she got hurt, and it seems that Jerome will do everything to avoid upsetting the Milkovich. It makes no difference to Debbie. She doesn’t need to be loved by her brother, she definitely doesn’t love him. The only thing they have in common is Mickey, and that’s more than enough.  
They get home when it’s almost morning, and she watches Jerome remove all of his clothing, completely unperturbed by the fact that she can see his naked ass, and put it in a black plastic bag.  
“We are not telling him about it.”  
She nods. Yes, there is no need to tell Mickey.

***

The pills make Jerome sleep long, so Mickey is usually the first one up. That’s probably the only reason why he finds a plastic bag stuffed with clothes hidden behind the trash bin. He looks inside because his curiosity cannot be stopped, and finds some of Jerome’s clothes. They aren’t exactly covered in blood, but there are dark specks of it here and there. It’s not something the older man wore the day before during the day, so Mickey guesses that it must have happened while he was asleep. The redhead doesn’t look any different than he did when they were having sex, so it probably isn’t a big deal. One way of another, he isn’t going to ask. He already got his fingers burned when he was with Ian, no one finds being pushy and overprotective attractive. He checks one last time that everything is fine with Jerome, and then he goes for another painful date with a laser before work.  
Half of the crew is sick, so it’s just him, Ralph and Benny working. There is so much work to do that he doesn’t even have the time to take piss, and when it’s the lunch break he considers not eating, but Ralph glares at him until he eats his pasta. Faster than he should, barely chewing the food Debbie prepared for him, but it still counts as eating, even if his boss just sighs at him grumpily. Benny laughs into his sandwich, so Mickey gives him a finger and goes back to his car, a beautiful red Camaro. To think he never cared about the cars before, and look at him now, longingly staring at other people’s cars. He can see himself spending time working on his own car, Jerome creating the background noise with his incessant babbling. He can imagine having sex in the backseat or maybe even on the car if the hood is low enough. He has to stop thinking about sex while at work, the last thing he wants is the awkward boner while Benny is whistling some country song nearby.  
“We have a new car coming in, can you take it?” Ralph’s greasy hand leaves a print on Mickey’s sleeve. The old man always does that. It’s supposed to piss him off, but what is a bit of grease? His trousers will never be salvaged anyway, and shirts are far cheaper to replace.  
“Sure man, what is it?”  
“A total wreck,” Ralph laughs heartily. For some reason he loves barely working cars, and it seems to translate to people as well.  
The car definitely is a wreck. It’s a beat up truck with paint peeling off. It looks Southside through and through which is probably why Mickey already feels a pang of affection for it. He touches one of the bigger rust spots, this car needs some love.  
After the preliminary assessment of the car he finally looks at the owner. Or at the owners, as it turns out. One is tall, dark haired, kind of handsome. There is a bit of muscle on him, but not too much. Quite pleasant to look at, good enough to fuck. The other man is, well, he is Ian. Beautiful and pale, healthy looking Ian.  
Mickey waits for the sadness or lust to kick in. There is a slight pull, but nothing too bad, he doesn’t immediately feel like crying or putting the younger man through the wall. That’s an improvement.  
“What’s wrong with the car then?” he asks, casually leaning against the car. He can already tell they will get along well, even though the car is definitely a girl.  
“It makes weird sounds. Most of the time,” the nameless guy explains, clearly not having the slightest idea what’s inside of every car. Maybe he’s heard about engines, Mickey thinks.  
“Okay, let me take a look, and I will tell you in a few minutes what needs to be done. You can fill the paperwork with Ralph while I’m checking your baby.”  
Ian looks constipated while his friend, or more likely – a boyfriend, repeats the word ‘baby’ with a chuckle.  
“Hey Jason, can you do it? I will wait here to see what’s wrong with my car,” Gallagher suggests, voice tight.  
“Sure, babe,” the guy laughs again and then goes to find Ralph.  
Mickey shrugs and gets to work. He has a vague idea of what might be wrong with the truck, but he needs to pop the hood to look at its insides. Unsurprisingly, it’s not a pretty sight, but he’s seen worse.  
“You are not going to say anything?” Ian asks, appearing in Mickey’s line of vision.  
“I can have your car running by tomorrow, two hundred bucks. It’s a miracle it’s nothing more serious.”  
“Really, Mickey? Really?”  
“What do you want me to say?” he asks confused.  
“Well, maybe you could explain what you are even doing here? Or why haven’t you told Svetlana that you are out? Does your family know?”  
“Aye, fuck off. I don’t have to explain anything to you. No one from my old life knows, I will tell them soon, so don’t mention it to Lana.”  
“That’s it?” and Mickey has a flashback, but it lasts only a second. He needs to keep the memories at bay better.  
“Yeah Ian, that’s it.”  
Ian looks at him expectantly, so he just straightens up to give him a good view. He can almost feel Gallagher’s gaze as it travels all over his body, stopping at the covered tattoo.  
“You’ve done something to it. What have you done to it?”  
“Laser removal, I’m not going to live the rest of my life with your name on my chest, am I?”  
“Why? Your boyfriend doesn’t approve?”  
It’s either meant to be a joke or a jab, but Mickey answers seriously, “Yeah, he doesn’t like it much.”  
Ian takes a step back then, looking surprised and maybe slightly mad, “You wanted me to wait for you, but you couldn’t wait for me?”  
“It’s been over a year. You only came once when she paid you. I also knew you have a boyfriend. I know you all think I’m just a dumb thug, and maybe you are right, but I wasn’t going to cry for the rest of my life. Not when something good finally happened in it.”  
Gallagher’s lips part but no sound comes out, and soon after that they hear Jason calling for him. Mickey nods one last time and goes back to fixing the car. That’s it, they are done. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian's POV

When he visited Mickey, he wasn’t… He wasn't faring so well. He was better than when he decided that he doesn’t need the older man anymore, but he was nowhere near feeling good. The fact that Svetlana had to pay him said everything, though the look on her face told him that she thinks the worst of him.  
Weeks after that it turns out that they are all a bunch of heartless cunts because Svetlana divorces Mickey, and everyone else forgets the Milkovich even exists.  
Ian doesn’t care. For the first few weeks he is so wrapped up in the drama of his own life that he completely erases the older man from his mind. He has to concentrate on putting the pieces of himself together, there is a small, stubborn part that doesn’t allow him to give up, to let the disorder win. So he starts taking pills again, goes to the psychologist, and never ever talks to her about Mickey.  
It gets better. One day he wakes up and realizes that he doesn’t feel like a ghost anymore, that he is Ian again. Slightly more tired, a little bit paler, but he is Ian Gallagher again. He can breathe. He can start living again. He goes out, works, meets new people, meets Jason.  
But waking up means noticing the world around him, and it’s no longer something he recognizes. His family is barely that anymore. Liam is the only one who still is a lovable, adorable child that Ian remembers. Lip is busy with the University, hardly ever calling home. It seems that they aren’t really a part of his life anymore now that there is a whole new world in front of him. Carl changed into a teenage criminal-wannabe, hanging around with the worst kind of people, thinking that he is much tougher than he really is, waiting for it to be verified. Fiona is no longer someone they can depend on, it seems that she is going through the motions when she is home, taking care of the kids because that’s what she is supposed to do, not because she cares. She is fucking her boss, imagining that she has a future with him. What a joke. And Debbie is, well. At first Debbie is distant. She avoids looking at Ian, and when she does her eyes are full of anger and disdain. She only talks to him when there is no other way of communicating, but her sentences are short and clipped. Then one day she isn’t there in the morning, or in the evening, and it’s only three days later that Fiona tells them that she let Debbie live with a friend as long as the younger girl promises to visit once a week. When Ian asks Fiona who the friend is, his sister looks down, red spots bright on her cheeks. She doesn’t know. Debbie doesn’t answer his calls, and when she shows up for a weekly visit she refuses to tell him where she lives, and leaves as soon as she can.  
It bothers Ian, but apparently it doesn’t bother him enough because just few days later he is yet again busy with his own life. And with Jason, who is probably the sweetest guy he’s ever met. Granted, he doesn’t have much experience with sweet guys, but Jason seems to be very unique. He is handsome, funny, and he is a firefighter. Someone who tries to do something good, not settling for dead-end, mindless jobs like the majority of Southside people does. Like Ian himself does, but it’s not something he likes to think about.  
There is nothing beautiful about Jason, the man is all straight, manly lines, handsome and strong. It’s fine, Ian doesn’t need any more beauty in his life, he’s had that, it’s in the past. They go on dates, they have fun, they have sex, it’s the normalcy he has never really enjoyed before. It’s too early for love, but it could be once Ian’s heart is free of all the feelings that refuse to completely vanish.  
Things are going fine, and even Debbie stops glowering at him when she visits. She looks far less tired, a lot brighter and happier, so he figures that it doesn’t really matter who she is living with now, if she is healthy. He was sure that the abortion broke her, but he yet again underestimated his little sister, and she bounced back without their help. The fact that she had to do it either alone, or with the help of someone from the outside of their family, is yet another thing he tries not to think about. 

He has a car now. It’s some kind of a truck that stopped really resembling any car model long time ago. The seats aren’t exactly comfortable, the whole thing is covered in spots of rust, but he can easily get to work now, and it was cheap. It gets him a while to get used to driving it, but after that he almost thinks fondly of it. At least until the engine starts making suspicious noises, that’s definitely not a promise of anything good, but he appreciates the warning. He doesn’t appreciate the fact that he will have to shell out money for the repair. If it’s more than three hundred bucks then he is selling it for parts. He hates the idea of reacquainting himself with the tube, but he really doesn’t have the money to spend on the repairs. Jason offers to cover the bill, but no matter how shaky Ian’s legs might be, he intends to stand on them properly. It’s his responsibility to take care of the car he bought. He lets the older man choose the garage though because he heard someone say that the art of compromising is one of the grounds for solid relationships. That, and he has no idea where to go, Jason went through far more cars than he did.  
The garage looks similar to any other place he’s seen, maybe it’s slightly cleaner, and the colours outside are a bit brighter, but other than that there is nothing that would draw Ian’s attention to it. They are greeted by an old guy who tells them to drive inside while he goes to fetch someone to take look at it.  
The inside of the garage isn’t as dark as Ian expects it to be which in hindsight should be obvious since there are people working who should be able to see everything. He is looking around, half listening to whatever his boyfriend is saying. He hears someone approach, so he concentrates on that. It’s pretty warm outside, but Ian’s blood runs cold when he sees the newcomer. Wearing a t-shirt with a dark hand print on one arm and hopelessly stained jeans, hair slicked back with gel, is Mickey. His ex boyfriend pays no attention to them at first, he is assessing the truck, so Ian allows himself to really take the older man in. He looks good, his white skin is completely smooth and has a healthy glow to it, the muscles on his arms even more perfect and defined than they were before. Pink lips and blue eyes are the only splashes of colour on his pale face, yet he manages to look both fresh and happy. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell that Mickey is actually happy and not slightly disgruntled, but Ian has seen him happy before. He knows.  
Finally, Mickey looks up and asks about the car. Ian sees the recognition in his exes eyes, of course it’s there, with maybe a bit of surprise, but the older man pulls himself together real quick, and talks with Jason about the truck. That’s not what Ian expected to happen once, if, they saw each other again. He expected there would be a lot of shouting even if other people were around. Maybe a bit of begging on Mickey’s part. He definitely didn’t expect the almost emotionless reaction, which is why he quickly suggests, “Hey Jason, can you do it? I will wait here to see what’s wrong with my car,” when the right moment comes.  
“Sure, babe,” Jason agrees readily.  
Jason goes away, and Mickey goes back straight to the truck, ignoring his presence. So he comes closer to make sure that the other man can see him, before he asks, “You are not going to say anything?”  
Mickey’s answer surprises him yet again, “I can have your car running by tomorrow, two hundred bucks. It’s a miracle it’s nothing more serious.”  
“Really, Mickey? Really?”  
“What do you want me to say?” Mickey’s eyes are wide open, as if he truly can’t understand Ian’s problem.  
“Well, maybe you could explain what you are even doing here? Or why haven’t you told Svetlana that you are out? Does your family know?” he enquires, the anger coming closer to the surface.  
“Aye, fuck off. I don’t have to explain anything to you. No one from my old life knows, I will tell them soon, so don’t mention it to Lana.”  
“That’s it?” it can’t be.  
“Yeah Ian, that’s it.”  
Mickey straightens then, challenging Ian to look at him. He does, not wanting to step back from the challenge. He notices that he missed something before, the part of Mickey’s chest with Ian’s name of it is covered with a band-aid.  
“You’ve done something to it. What have you done to it?” he asks almost frantically, anger and panic mixing together.  
“Laser removal, I’m not going to live the rest of my life with your name on my chest, am I?” it’s said so indifferently that Ian wants to rip the bandage away, reveal the tattoo for the whole world, for Jason, to see.  
“Why? Your boyfriend doesn’t approve?” Ian scoffs. The answer confuses him.  
“Yeah, he doesn’t like it much.”  
Ian has to take a step back, it’s too much for him to process, his head feels like it might explode any moment now.  
“You wanted me to wait for you, but you couldn’t wait for me?” it’s an accusation, but he hopes the older man reads it wrong.  
“It’s been over a year. You only came once when she paid you. I also knew you have a boyfriend. I know you all think I’m just a dumb thug, and maybe you are right, but I wasn’t going to cry for the rest of my life. Not when something good finally happened in it.”  
He wants to say something, but his mind is blank. He feels, and probably looks, like a gaping fish. The knowledge that Mickey doesn’t consider the time they were together makes him ache all over. Was it really that bad? Was his behaviour towards the end of it bad enough to overweight everything good that happened? Was it that traumatizing? He doesn’t get to ask his questions because Jason comes back, smiling, not aware of the anguish that Ian is experiencing. Mickey is yet again working on the car, and there is nothing left for them to say, so they leave. They have dinner, he fucks Jason until the older man is a begging, whimpering mess, and everything is just fine. 

He doesn’t tell Svetlana because he figures that it really isn’t his business anymore. There is also the fact that Mickey would hate him even more if he told anyone. Not that the older man hates him because apparently, Mickey gives zero fucks about Ian.  
For no reason whatsoever he also doesn’t tell Jason that he knows the mechanic fixing his car. And when it’s the time to pick the truck up he goes alone, but it’s the old guy who hands him the keys. He can’t ask, so he gets no answers and drives home frustrated, the engine humming much nicer than it did even after he just bought it. Who knew that Mickey Milkovich had any talents.  
He tries to forget, but it’s something he can’t go through again. There isn’t much going on in his life. A boring job, a boyfriend who is often busy, a family that no longer wants to spend any time together. So when he sits behind the counter, waiting for the customers, his mind wanders, and more often than not his thoughts stray to Mickey. But it’s normal, now that he doesn’t try to run away from the past, the dark haired man is a huge part of it. He has to admit that after the first few fuck ups Mickey has done so much good in his life that Ian doesn’t even wants to erase him from his memories. He really wanted to be indifferent, but it turns out that maybe he was in denial this whole time. He hoped that seeing his ex, and calling him ex makes Ian cold, would make him uncomfortable, remind him of everything bad that happened. But instead there is a part of him that wants to know this new Mickey. Seeing the older man sparked something in him. Maybe he doesn’t know himself at all, maybe Mickey knows him better than Ian does himself. It’s an amusing thought. It makes him sad.  
Jason loves walking. For someone who exercises at least four days a week and does a lot of lifting at work, the fireman is incredibly enthusiastic about walking. Which suits Ian just fine because recently he feels the need to be in the close proximity of Mickey’s garage. It’s not stalking, he just wants to see the older man one more time. One last time. Not necessarily to talk to him, just to see him from the afar.  
He is out of luck for almost two weeks, and then one day they just bump into each other. Ian and Jason are few blocks away from the garage, so it seems that he finally found the right direction. Only Mickey isn’t alone. There is a guy with him, and at first Ian thinks that he must be hallucinating because Mickey’s friend looks almost exactly like him. Jason gasps next to him, and that’s when he notices a thick scar on the other redhead’s neck.  
“Oh,” Mickey says.  
“Yeah, well. That your boyfriend? You found yourself another me?” Ian doesn’t even understand what is wrong with his brain. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole, he doesn’t want to humiliate Mick, but when his mouth opens every word that comes out is ugly and harsh.  
“Fuck, no,” his ex laughs, “Jerome is nothing like you. His face is you know, obviously, but thankfully his personality is nothing like yours.”  
Ian should stop forgetting that words are like a double edged sword. The guy’s, Jerome’s, lips stretch in a smile, wide and alarming. It takes Ian only few seconds to realize that they must have met in prison. It makes him worried.  
Mickey nods and starts to walk away, but Jerome lags behind, still watching Ian like a hawk. Then his eyes suddenly center on Jason, and the smile turns even uglier when he quietly asks, “He cheating on you yet?”  
Jason doesn’t understand, so of course he wants the answers. They don’t fight when he gets them because his boyfriend doesn’t fight. He hardly ever raises his voice, little mister Perfect. It’s not that Ian wants to fight, it’s just that every time he was Mickey he felt a certain rush, simply being with the Milkovich was thrilling, and it’s just not there with a handsome, soft-spoken Jason.

***

Everyone is kind of giddy because Debbie called that she will be coming home today, and they can properly prepare for her visit. Usually she just comes without announcing it, so sometimes only one of them is home, and while it might be his younger sister’s angle, he knows that it makes Fiona uncomfortable. But now they are all waiting for Debbie, even Svetlana. Carl is the only one who isn’t overly interested, he even invited one of his more suspicious friends. The guy is too old to hang out with teenagers, at least twenty, and he’s been to prison, though his lanky frame is hardly scary. Ian worries more about the ideas he feeds to Carl, but his younger brother still thinks that he is tough shit.  
For some reason, when the time comes, Ian feels the spark of excitement running through his body. It seems that his body is better at predicting the future than he is because Debbie brings trouble with her. Mickey and Jerome walk in like they own the place, relaxed and blasé, not a hint of discomfort on their faces. Debbie is smiling victoriously. The second Ian looks at her face he understands that she’s known all along. She’s been disappearing even before she moved out for real, and it kind of makes sense that she’s been visiting Mickey. Lip probably would have guessed, but Ian and Fiona were oblivious like newborn babies.  
Mickey slowly walks towards his son who is playing on the floor and picks him up. Yevgeny looks unsure for a second before he lets out a loud squeal, his chubby hands reaching for is father’s face. Mickey hugs him then, holding the boy tightly.  
“We are taking Yevy home,” Jerome says lazily to no one in particular, but everyone turns to look at him. And everyone gasps at the same time because they were too busy with the Milkovich to notice that Ian and Jerome look like twins. It’s a bad comedy moment. No one laughs.  
“No!” Svetlana immediately objects. Ian can’t understand her, she hardly can judge Mick for being in prison, she used to be a whore after all. “Flat not safe!”  
“Our house is perfectly safe,” Debbie interjects, “baby-proofed and all, safer than this shithole.”  
“That, and it’s M’s kid anyway.”  
Ian knows nothing about Jerome, but when he sees Svetlana, V. and his family readying for a verbal fight he knows it won’t end well for them. It’s not that he expects the older redhead to off them, that would be a ridiculous assumption, but making their life difficult doesn’t seem like a problem. He is about to interpose when Carl comes down with his guest, who turns an interesting shade of grey when he sees the newest addition to the household.  
“Long time no see Bull! I mean, uh,” it’s clearly directed at Mickey and supposed to sound laid-back, but the guy is already sweating nervously, eyes twitching. The Milkovich stares at him and then looks at Jerome.  
“That’s Tim, you broke his arm in prison when he tried to act tough.”  
“Oh, right, you.”  
“Wait, what? You said you were in a fight against three guys?” Carl asks clearly annoyed.  
“It felt like it, you try getting into a fight with the Bull,” Tim murmurs, ears red. Carl snorts mockingly, but looks at Mickey with the renewed interest. They all do. Over the years it seemed that the dark haired man became more collected, but the prison has its own rules of conduct. Still, Ian expected him to be too broken or tired to fight.  
“So, how the two of you are doing? Wanna do business together?”  
Mickey laughs at that condescendingly while Jerome lunges towards Tim and stares him down, “You have nothing to offer though, do you Timmy?”  
Ian almost feels sorry for the guy, being humiliated in front of a sizeable audience is awful, but it’s also entertaining in a twisted way.  
“You heard about Terry?” Tim tries again, and this time he manages to draw everyone’s attention.  
“What about him?”  
“He can barely walk, after what you did. Not doing so well in prison now.”  
When Mickey smiles it’s not a pretty sight. “He is lucky to be alive. If J didn’t stop me he would be rotting under the ground,” he says darkly. There is no doubting he is saying the truth. Svetlana gets up quietly and packs Yev’s bag. Ian wonders if it’s because she believes that Mick will protect their son or because she is afraid of what might happen if she doesn’t let him take the kid.  
Ian knows he is going to cry the second he is able to lock himself in the bathroom. Jerome and Mickey leave with Yev while Debbie stays, clearly unhappy about that. Mickey didn’t even acknowledge him properly, and he looked so comfortable with Jerome. It used to be Ian’s. He had that, he had Mickey’s love and protectiveness, and now he has a bland relationship with goody two shoes Jason.

He follows Debbie to the new house. He needs to know, he isn’t going to do anything with the knowledge, but not knowing will drive him crazy.  
The house is quite big and almost not Southside. It could use some work, but he is no longer surprised that Debbie prefers to live there. She must be getting a lot of peace and quiet with just the three of them. One more person probably wouldn’t make much of a difference.  
He gets home and cries again. During the next session with the psychologist he tells her everything, from the very beginning to the disastrous end, about his rocky relationship with Mickey. She never expresses her private thoughts, but he can tell when she is disappointed with him. This time she seems considerably disenchanted. He hopes that she will treat his recent crying as a sign of meds not working properly, but she just shakes her head. It’s not the drugs, it’s him processing the situation he is in, finally realizing the mistakes he made and accepting the fact that he damaged someone he loved. He never even told Mickey that he loved him. He pushed and pushed until the older man’s walls fell down, then abused the power he was given.  
He doesn’t feel any lighter after the session and takes it out on Jason, who patiently listens to him, probably blaming it on Ian’s disorder. He is so patient. Ian wants to throw up.  
A week later he rings the doorbell to Mickey’s place, and ignores the angry look on Debbie’s face when she opens. He manages to talk her into letting him in. He has to wait in the kitchen while she goes to finish the shower, and he has enough decency to stay there. He wants to snoop around, but he is already overstepping the boundaries. The kitchen is clean and quite modern, no knives lying around, no drugs, no alcohol. There is beer in the fridge, but it hardly counts as alcohol in the Milkovich terms. He spots fruit, vegetables, some meat. It’s so normal. It makes everything weird.  
“You just couldn’t stay away,” there is no time to respond, Ian is fighting before his back hits the floor. Jerome is a sneaky fighter and a very effective one as well, in no time he has Ian pinned to the tiles, choking him. “You saw how boring your fuck toy is, huh? How inadequate? You are a little pest, and I am going to crush you.”  
It seems like hours before Mickey’s voice cuts through the sounds of gasping, “What the fuck?” He sounds vaguely amused.  
“He came for a visit.”  
“And why are you choking him?”  
“We had a little misunderstanding,” that’s complete bullshit, Ian did nothing to provoke Jerome, but he can’t argue with the bright spots everywhere and his hands falling limp.  
“Stop it, J.”  
By the time Ian can finally breathe and see, Jerome is all over Mickey, kissing him like his life depends on it, unbothered by Ian’s presence. He knows what it is, he’s done this before. A sign of ownership, laying the claim. And Mickey lets him. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. It shouldn’t hurt at all.  
He doesn’t try to sit on the chair even when Jerome leaves the room to let them talk. He is still feeling faint from almost dying, among other things.  
“What are you doing here?” Mickey’s voice is tinged with genuine curiosity.  
“I want to fix things with Debbie. Maybe with you too.”  
“Ian…”  
“I just want us to have a happy ending,” he admits.  
“As far as I know I already got mine,” the older man’s voice is hard and slightly higher than usually. He is angry.  
“Not like that. I thought that we could be friends,” Ian is lying. He has no idea what he wants with the older man, he just knows that he wants _something_.  
“Come on, we never were friends. We fucked, we fought, we were boyfriends, but not friends.”  
“Can we be friends then? Not having each other in our lives is a bit difficult, isn’t it?”  
“It was your choice, Ian.”  
“I was sick. I’m sorry. Let’s try, Mick.”  
“I don’t know.” Ian wants to take it as a ‘yes’, but he can see how conflicted Mickey is. It might mean that the other man still feels something for him, but it may also mean that he pities Ian, and that’s the last thing he wants. He is pitied enough by Fiona and everyone else who learns about the disorder.  
Patching up things with Debbie is not as easy as he thought it would be. His sister is finally happy with where she is, and she simply doesn’t need him anymore. From what he can see, although no one confirms it, Mickey is not just a friend for her. The way she talks about him makes it obvious that she treats him like a brother, even though she already has more than enough of those. It makes Ian realize that for a long time no one paid any attention to Debbie. Fiona only cared about her getting rid of the pregnancy and then lost all interest. Lip is not there, and Ian had his own problems to think about. It should be obvious that sooner or later Debbie would find someone to confide in, he just never expected this person to be Mickey. Maybe he should have.  
When he comes over, Jerome is anything but nice to him. Ian doesn’t want to be friends with the guy who most probably is his brother, but Jerome could at least be civil. He isn’t, he goes as far as to leave the door open while he is fucking Mickey, and Ian walks in on them. Ian gets a perfect view of Mickey stretched open on a thick cock, moaning like a slut while Jerome pounds into him. He is meant to see it, Jerome looks him straight in the eye when he senses his presence and grins.  
When he complains about it to Debbie she smiles sadly and whispers, “I wish you didn’t hang out with me because you want Mick.”

No one else knows where Mickey lives, Ian hasn’t told them where he disappears after work, they all think he is meeting with Jason. Jason thinks he is busy with work. It’s a perfect arrangement.  
Mickey picks Yev up for weekends and sometimes on Wednesdays too, and he usually comes with Debbie for support. But one day it’s Jerome who appears on their doorstep – for some reason Svetlana spends more time at the Gallagher house than at the Fisher one, with Debbie in tow. Ian’s sister is wearing new jacket and shoes, and it makes him inexplicably angry.  
Svetlana scowls when she sees Mick’s boyfriend and hugs Yevgeny so tightly that he squeals and hits her in the arm. When the boy notices Jerome he doesn’t look happy, but he also doesn’t start crying, which means that the man must be treating him well. There is clearly no love, but then again they are just getting to know each other, and Yev can be difficult around new people.  
“Not you. You come, Mickey don’t get the baby. You keep coming, I keep Yevgeny away from ex husband,” Svetlana’s accent it always thicker when she is upset.  
“Ah, ah, ah, let me explain something,” Jerome leans against the door frame, completely relaxed. “If you make it difficult for M to see Yevgeny,” Ian used to fuck up the pronunciation, the older man says it like Russian is his first language, “I am going to have so much fun making you suffer. Not just you, you ungrateful whore, no. I will burn down your house, cut your little family, all of them. Wait, no, not the little black one, he is cute. But Fiona, Carl, Veronica, Kev, I will even go and get Lip if it’s necessary to get the point across. As for my little slut of a brother, I will rip his dick off since he is so fond of it. Nothing good ever comes of it anyway. I will take Yev from you and disappear, poof! No one will know, I am good at that,” the tone is light, teasing, but there is no humour in Jerome’s eyes. He means every single word, and Ian can see Debbie nodding. She knows it’s a real threat. She knows, and she isn’t even bothered.  
Svetlana yields then, hands Yevgeny over muttering something in Russian.  
“That’s what I thought,” Jerome’s smile is all teeth. He manages to look like a predator even with Yev snuggled against his chest.  
When they finally leave Svetlana reaches for her phone, hands shaking so much that she has a hard time dialing, Ian assumes, Mickey. He is right. She tells her ex husband to come as soon as he can.  
“I don’t like this Jerome,” she tells him after, hands clenched. “He is not good. Dangerous. Mickey shouldn’t be with him.”  
Ian wants to share her fears, but deep down he knows that Mickey isn’t in any real danger. It’s everyone else who is going to suffer. Jerome confirmed that he is Ian’s brother, and that means he got the same fucked up genes from Clayton and Monica. They can only expect the worst from him.  
“I don’t know, Svet. Maybe it’s what Mick likes,” he is afraid that’s the truth. That Mickey finally had the taste of something different, and that he likes it better than Ian. Jerome can do things that he most definitely can’t. He is limited by what’s right and wrong, by people’s expectations, and his brother is free.  
When Mickey comes the atmosphere is rather somber. Debbie is with him, she is bracing for a fight, Ian can tell.  
“You left Yevy with that man?” it’s closer to a shout than anything else, without Jerome around Svetlana regains her confidence.  
“Yeah.”  
“What is wrong with you?! He crazy! He will hurt the baby!”  
“No, he won’t,” Mickey’s composure sharply contrasts with Svetlana’s shakiness. Ian has never seen him so much in control of his mind and body.  
“He threatened us! He threatened your redhead!”  
The older man turns to look at Debbie, the question obvious in his eyes. She shakes her head softly and nods towards Ian, “She means him. Jerome threatened to cut his dick off.”  
Mickey doesn’t quite cover the laugh that escapes his lips.  
“I will tell him to take it easy, but you have to stop provoking him.”  
Mick is in love. He is not Ian’s anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me happy?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to Japan next week, and I'll be there for over a month, so if I don't update it's because I'm taking a tablet with me and ugh, it's so small. 
> 
>  
> 
> I want to kill Ian even though I'm not watching season 6. CHOKE ON A DICK AND DIEEEEEE. Um.

Jerome likes to film things. He says it’s because he wants to always be alive, but Mickey doubts it’s the truth because the redhead mostly films them during sex. It’s not exactly something that the majority of people want to be remembered for. At first Mickey is uncomfortable with the idea, but Jerome never films their faces, so after first few times he doesn’t object much. Their tapes are raunchy. He likes toys, his boyfriend likes to test his limits, they work really well together. He never thought he would let anyone dp him with a toy or put other things down there, yet there he is, letting the older man do everything he can think of. He doesn’t always enjoy it as much as Jerome, but it’s not a big deal, it doesn’t hurt him in any way he would particularly dislike.  
The tapes are not meant for anyone else to see, but sometimes he fantasizes about Ian watching them while touching himself. That one time the younger man caught them keeps replaying in his head. He liked showing Ian that he can still feel good with someone else, but he dislikes the fact that he can’t forget about the incident. Even though the name on Mickey’s chest keeps fading Ian’s frequent presence complicates things. He doesn’t want to feel, he used to be so good at not feeling, but then Gallagher came and trampled down every single one of his barriers.  
The worst thing is that loving Jerome doesn’t stop him from still feeling something for the younger man.  
He develops a new habit which, he assumes, has to be stress related. At night, he sneaks out to the kitchen when Jerome is already asleep, takes a tube of ice cream, sits on a table and eats until he feels okay again. He isn’t sure why he is feeling so bad. Sometimes it takes only few spoons, and sometimes he ends up eating the whole thing. It means that he has to exercise a bit more, but he doesn’t mind. Exercising makes him stop wanting to punch people until they bleed – it doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but from time to time he has an overwhelming urge to hurt someone. The only thing that really stops him is that he suspects Jerome is doing something similar, only he doesn’t resort to doing pull ups or crunches, he simply goes for it. But they don’t talk about it, so Mickey pretends he has no idea about the things that might occur when Jerome isn’t home. It isn’t often anyway.  
He can’t say he is surprised when Debbie joins him one night. There is no ice cream conflict, she likes peanut butter and he prefers the mint chip one, so he doesn’t mind sitting with her. At first they don’t even talk, too busy scoffing down their respective ice creams. Then Debbie sighs, and Mickey gets ready to listen about whatever is bothering her. He thinks he already knows but keeps quiet, because sometimes you just need to say things out loud to make yourself feel better.  
“I wish he would come here because he wants to spend time with me, not because he is hoping you will change your mind. I’m still angry, but…”  
“But he is your brother, and you Gallaghers are fucking family freaks.”  
“I guess. It’s just… I know he hurt you the most, but am I that unimportant?”  
“Fucking hell, Debs. If it weren’t for your visits I’d probably go crazy. Even with Jerome there, we were locked up together, and you brought the world to me, alright? So stop talking shit ‘cause you are really fucking important to me. If Ian can’t see it then he can go and fuck himself with a fucking fork.”  
“That’s unnecessarily explicit,” Debbie says wetly. Mickey pretends not to notice when she moves a bit closer to him so that their sides are touching. It’s as far as she can get to a hug with him, but it must be enough because she continues eating her ice cream in silence.  
Debbie leaves after finishing the ice cream, but he spends the rest of the night smoking, even though he has work early in the morning. Talking with Ian is the last thing he wants, but he supposes it’s his duty now.  
The younger man looks disappointed when he realizes that Mickey wants to talk about his sister, and it pisses Mickey off. What the fuck happened to this family? The Milkovich fam has always been the worst when Terry was around, but now it doesn’t seem that the Gallaghers are any better. It would be funny, seeing as they always thought really highly of themselves, yet he can’t laugh because someone he wants to protect is suffering because of it. And yes, he has to admit, even if it’s only to himself, that he wants to make sure nothing bad ever happens to Debbie again. It gives him a purpose, Jerome doesn’t need any protection.

There are Ian shaped cracks in their relationship. The longer Ian stays, the bigger they get, even if all they exchange are hesitant smiles on the younger man’s side, and nods on Mickey’s. He’s learned the lesson, he will never cheat on anyone he loves, but Jerome has every right to feel threatened. Sometimes, when they are in the middle of a mind-blowing sex, the older man whispers things like, ‘I bet you’d love him to see it’ or ‘he is a child, he won’t do shit for you’. Fighting is the last thing Mickey wants, so he just kisses Jerome when it happens, kisses him until he can’t breathe, stops only when his lungs start to burn.  
He is uneasy when Ian is around, and it’s like Jerome can smell it on him. He has to remind his boyfriend over and over again to leave the Gallaghers alone, to not hurt them. Mickey’s skin is littered with scratches and bruises, the older man continuously marks him. He feels owned like never before, and when he is so fucked out that the only thing he can do is part his legs wide for Jerome to suck and lick, and mark, he dreams about being chained to the bed, used over and over again by the man he loves. He would love every second of being J’s breeding bitch.  
During the day he is ashamed of his own thoughts, but in the evening Jerome fucks him bare, and the shame disappears as fast as it appeared. His mind might be getting split a bit, and he can’t help but wonder whether it’s what his partner wants.  
At least at work he gets some peace from the crazy rollercoaster of emotions. They have to hire a new guy, and Ralph gives him an old Corvette as a birthday present. It’s not working, but it has a great potential, and he can keep it at the garage. He almost does something as stupid as crying, but he sees the way his boss is smiling, and Corvette or not – he is not going to give the old fart the pleasure of seeing his tears. He agrees to go out for drinks with other guys instead. He wakes everyone up when he gets home, and Debbie laughs at him so hard that she gets a stomach ache. It might be his singing, but then Jerome joins in, and Debbie has no choice but to also sing with them. It’s in the house rules. He doesn’t remember it in the morning. It’s not a problem, his housemates remind him about it ten times within the first four hours. It’s nice up until Ian shows up with a present for him, unable to get hold of him earlier. Jerome disappears for hours, but when he comes back they experiment with spanking. It isn’t too bad, he might add it to a list of things he enjoys and wants to repeat.  
He hates Ian’s gift because it proves that the younger man still knows him. Mickey doesn’t exactly go around telling people that he always loved comic books, and Ian got him a really old X-men issue that he always wanted. He would burn it, if he didn’t love it so much.  
“You still love him,” Jerome says. They are getting ready for bed, Mickey is already half naked when the redhead pushes him into the wall so hard that his head collides with it with a loud thud.  
“I don’t want to.”  
“Don’t you?” the other man growls, hands wrapping around his neck. Mickey isn’t choking, but he can definitely feel the pressure, and Jerome’s eyes look crazy.  
“No! Let me go!” he has to use considerable strength to push the redhead away. Jerome turns around, takes the first thing in sight – which is a night lamp, and throws it against the wall. Mickey doesn’t wait for him to thrash the room, he dresses as fast as he can and leaves the room ignoring Jerome’s shouting. For a brief moment he considers taking Debbie with him, but he knows that nothing will happen to her.  
Fifteen minutes later he is still shaking, and it’s not from the cold, the night is quite pleasant. He is… He doesn’t know what he is. He wants to think he is angry, but a voice at the back of his head tells him that it might be fear not anger. But Jerome is so good for him, he never actually hurt him. It would be so easy to just squeeze Mickey’s neck, but he didn’t. Terry would. _Ian_ would. But J didn’t, so he walks around for a bit longer before coming to a dark, quiet house. Their bedroom is a mess of broken wood and clothes. Jerome is waiting for him in the bed, and his apology is laced with sweet kisses. He thinks they are done with the topic, but after a while his boyfriend whispers in his ear, “You know he didn’t break up with this J-something dude, right? He actually told his fuck toy that you abused him when you were together.”  
“How… How do you know?” Mickey’s voice quivers slightly.  
“J-thing came over when you were at work. He wanted to tell you to stay away from my idiot brother, as if it’s you chasing him and not the other way round,” Jerome chuckles. “I talked some sense into him, but with my fist, no worries. I’m sorry.”  
“You are not.”  
“I am. It makes you sad, I don’t want you to be sad.”  
Maybe he doesn’t, but he knew that Mickey wouldn’t be happy to hear that his ex spreads lies about him. It would be better if Mickey didn’t know, sometimes it’s better to be oblivious, yet Jerome chose to tell him. 

Mickey is not good with words. Never was, never will be. But now he knows better than to avoid problems. They aren’t going to disappear, they will just escalate, get so big that they can no longer be hidden behind fake cheerfulness. That’s why he corners Ian in the bathroom while the younger man is taking piss. There are two reasons for that. One, it’s the only place that no one is going to eavesdrop on them and two – he wants Ian to feel vulnerable. It’s difficult to be confident with a limp dick in your hand.  
“Are you taking your pills?” it’s not what he rehearsed, but he needs to know when he, not for the first time, notices the redhead’s glowing skin and build arms.  
“Yeah,” Ian says, clearly flabbergasted.  
“Oh, right.” It hurts. It’s not that he doesn’t want the redhead to fight for his own health, but the knowledge that Ian used it as an excuse to break up only to start taking pills right after Mickey landed in prison hurts so fucking much that his chest might burst open. Mickey knows that he will never get over it.  
“It’s not like that Mick,” Ian says hastily, as if he can read his ex’s mind. “I had few better days after… after the visit, and realized that I can’t live like that anymore.”  
“Sure it isn’t,” it comes out stifled. “No worries man, it’s cool.”  
“No, it’s not. You changed, and I thought that it’s not something I want, but I was sick. And wrong. I need stability.”  
“It’s fine, seriously, drop it.”  
“Jesus, Mick. It’s fine that I fucked you over? Is it really fine that I used you and then abandoned you? How fucking low is your self-esteem?!” Gallagher obviously doesn’t know about Jason’s attempt at protecting him. It’s amusing in a bitter way that he is trying to apologize.  
“Maybe it’s low, or maybe I know that you told Jason that I abused you, so I no longer care enough to listen to your bullshit!” Ian’s face falls, and only then Mickey registers that he is screaming.  
“Oh, okay, um. Who told you that?”  
“It doesn’t really matter, does it? I did a lot of bad shit before, but it’s kind of funny that your disorder excuses you, but nothing ever excuses me. Everything I went through as a kid doesn’t matter, right? And, in the end, being fucking raped and shot is not a big deal, it shouldn’t bother me, right? Let’s just forget about how I tried to help you when you got sick, how I had to just accept that you are sick and fuck around with everyone, how you never said that you loved me. It’s all good because you are fucking mental, and no one in the Gallagher family gives a flying fuck about me. Oh, wait, Debbie does, but all of you treated her like shit as well, we finally have something to bond over.”  
“It’s not like that…” Ian sounds weak, like he doesn’t even believe in what he is saying.  
“Why would you even say something like that to him? I don’t get it. Do you want his pity? Do you want me to be a bad guy here?”  
Gallagher doesn’t say anything, but suddenly it becomes obvious, so obvious that it makes Mickey gasp. He feels like crying. “You want to make sure he is on your side. That you have someone to come back to if your plan doesn’t work out. Christ, I never knew you could be so cruel. But alright, I can be your bad guy. Bad, tough guy. Get the fuck out.”  
“No, Mick, no.”  
“Get out, or I will make you,” he growls.  
“Mickey, baby, please, I’m sorry.” Mickey wants to punch Ian. He punches the wall instead. The skin on his knuckles breaks leaving a bloody print on the tiles.  
“Why do you keep hurting me?” he asks, no longer caring that he sounds weak. He is tired of acting strong. He can hear Ian crying behind him when he goes to the bedroom, utterly exhausted.  
The bed is too big and too soft, and it’s not the best hiding spot, but Mickey Milkovich is not hiding. He just needs to rest. His eyes close without him noticing, and he dozes off for a while before a sound of someone entering the room wakes him. A few months ago it would make him wary, but know he just blinks to chase the sleep away and asks, “Jerome?”  
“No, it’s me.”  
“I told you to go.” The bed dips where Ian chooses to sit or maybe kneel, Mickey doesn’t know because he refuses to face the other man.  
“I don’t want to leave you angry and hurt again.” He wants to laugh, deny it, but Ian keeps talking, and he listens. Call him a masochist, but it can’t really get any worse.  
“I don’t feel too good about myself. I like to pretend that I do, but it’s not like I can lie to myself for long. I need people’s acceptance, even when I dislike someone I still want them to like me. It’s fucking retarded, and I’m working on it during the therapy, but sometimes it sneaks up on me. Jason asked about our relationship, so I just told him a lot. Not everything, some things are just for you and me to know, but he drew conclusions from what I said, and instead of telling him that he is wrong, I agreed,” Ian sniffles, voice unsteady. “Even when I was agreeing with him I knew he simply didn’t understand us, he is nothing like us, but I want him to think I’m a better person than I really am. Even though I’m going to break up with him soon.”  
Mickey allows himself to relax with every new word coming out of Ian’s mouth, and the younger man must see it because he lies behind him. The redhead’s hand comes to rest against Mickey’s hip, it’s the only point of contact, but they can feel each other’s body heat.  
“What I regret the most is that I never told you that I loved you. I… I… It didn’t change, but telling you now would be unfair.”  
It would, but Mickey lets his fingers touch Ian’s anyway. Just for a second. He wants to be angry, but he can’t ignore the fact that the younger man has issues that can’t be brushed aside and forgotten about when it’s convenient. They tried it before, it led them to where they are now. Broken and bruised.  
“I love Jerome.”

***

Ian decides that he’s been forgiven, surely Mickey wouldn’t touch him if he weren’t. The small touch shouldn’t be as thrilling as it is, but he tries to find happiness in the smallest things. Waiting for something big to happen is a sure way for being miserable. He ignores Mickey’s last words before they fall into the comfortable silence. He knows that Mick loves his brother. It doesn’t mean that he can’t love Ian as well, it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened.  
His name is almost gone from the older man’s chest, and it makes him a bit melancholic even if he always thought that name tattoos are ridiculous. But he would rather be in Mick’s life than on his skin, something he intends to work on. He steals a small kiss just before leaving, a quick press of lips against Mickey’s shoulder, and then almost runs before he gets punched.  
His break up with Jason is completely anticlimactic. At first he thinks that Jason’s lackluster reaction is due to shock, but then he slowly realizes that the older man’s feelings are far weaker than he claimed them to be. Ian already knows that what he mistook for love is just a mix of attraction, safety and convenience, but he is used to men being crazy about him. Now it’s clear that Jason is too calm and too proper for him. Fiona is far more disturbed by the break up than either of them. She keeps scolding him for letting go of such a ‘fine man’ while he feels like he can finally stop pretending and breathe again. Fiona rants about steady relationships, and Ian has to stifle a laugh when she uses the relationship with her _boss_ as an example. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together knows that her boss is using her young body and sooner or later will drop her for someone even younger and prettier. Sometimes he thinks that his older sister might be touched in the head a bit, at least in this one aspect. Maybe they all are.  
When he calls Lip to tell him about his plan he expects a thorough chewing out, but Lip just sighs, snorts, sighs again and then tells him not to fuck it up this time. Ian really doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He decides to back off for a while since he is aware that Jerome might come after him if he isn’t careful enough. He still hangs out with Debbie, but they meet in cafes and other places. He knows he’s been a dick, so he tries to make up for this. In exchange, Debbie doesn’t mention Mickey’s and Jerome’s seemingly perfect relationship.  
Not seeing his ex boyfriend does nothing to quell his desire, and he jerks off every day to the pictures he still has. Not that he needs them, he can imagine Mickey just fine on his own. The smooth, pale skin, thick cock and thighs, perfectly shaped ass, slim hips and a tight little hole he wants to finger and suck on. He ends up crying a few times when instead of Mick’s hot body his mind comes up with his face with red, red lips and sad, blue eyes.

According to the plan he came up with he needs to stay away for one more week, but his carefully constructed plan gets ruined by the police. On a Friday evening Veronica answers the door and is greeted by the sight of three police officers waiting on their doorstep. They are very polite when they come in and only one of them draws a gun when he sees Ian. He lowers it just as fast, so they hardly even register what happened.  
“You are not Jerome Valeska,” states the guy who seems to be the most important one.  
“No?”  
“You look a lot like him, though.” For now, Ian decides to act oblivious, so he just shrugs.  
“I’m detective Matthew Jones, and I’m from the city of Gotham. We know that Jerome is your half brother, and he’s been seen in the area.”  
“They might have just seen me, right?”  
“Yes, but some of the people mentioned a scar on a neck which you do not have. We have an idea where he might be, if he is not here. Do you know Mickey Milkovich? We’ve heard that they’ve been pretty tight in prison.”  
The other two police officers start searching the flat without asking for permission, and Fiona tries to argue, but the detective shows her some document to shut her up. Ian is positive that his heart is somewhere nears his throat, “Why are you looking for Jerome?”  
“He is an extremely, _extremely_ dangerous individual. I can’t stress that enough. He ran away from the psychiatric hospital where he’s been admitted for murdering, or assisting murder, at least fifteen people, his mother included. The release papers from the Chicago prison have been falsified, and his lawyer disappeared.”  
“Do you know where Mickey lives?”  
“We can get the information from the station.”  
The two officers come back empty-handed.  
“I will give you the directions, but you have to take me with you,” Ian blurts out, no longer playing dumb.  
“Kid, we don’t need your help.”  
“True, but by the time you get there from station Jerome might be long gone,” it’s a thinly veiled threat. He intends to text Debbie anyway.  
Jones squints at him and then sighs tiredly. During the ride he learns that Jerome hasn’t killed anyone ever since he got to Chicago – he was in prison because of an armed robbery. That, or he changed his style so much that they are unable to trace anything back to him. 

It’s Jerome who opens the door. He is smiling, his eyes cold. As far as Ian can see he doesn’t have a gun or a knife on him. His brother has to know, and yet he doesn’t care. He greets the policemen like they are his old friends, and maybe they are, from the other life in the dark city of Gotham. Ian never heard of Gotham before.  
“You coming, Jerome? Or do we have to use force?” Jones asks, one hand on a gun.  
“Coming,” Jerome singsongs, “let me just say goodbye to my partner.”  
Ian can see Mickey behind his brother now, his eyes red and puffy. Jerome murmurs something before kissing Mick, who clings to him, sobbing so hard that his whole body is trembling uncontrollably. The officers look extremely uncomfortable and surprised, obviously not used to this side of Jerome. His brother doesn’t struggle when they handcuff him, gets in the car on his own, eyes still glued to Mick.  
“Here, take this. It’s for his head,” Mickey presses a paper bag full of rattling pill bottles into Jones’ hand. “He will take them for me.”  
“You are lucky your papers are real, kid,” the man says, shaking his head. His voice is gentle.  
“I will visit you!” Mickey promises, and this time Jerome’s smile seems genuine. Ian feels like an intruder as he watches the police car drive away. Mickey goes back to the house without acknowledging him, but seconds later Debbie joins him. She is sad, but she hasn’t been crying.  
“Why did he stay?” he can’t understand it. He would try to run.  
“He would have to leave Mick behind. If they left together neither of them would have a normal life ever again. Jerome knows they will put him in the hospital, and Mickey would be in a prison, alone.”  
“Jerome _murdered_ at least fifteen people, Debs. How can Mick…”  
“He doesn’t know,” she cuts him short. “Of course he always suspected that Jerome must have done something bad, but he never really asked about it. Didn’t care.”  
“Oh.”  
“I knew. It doesn’t take much, a quick Google search. Jerome Valeska, Gotham,” she adds, completely unperturbed. “Admittedly, it wasn’t very nice. There are pictures.”  
“How can you be so calm about it?! You lived with a serial killer!”  
“Well, yeah, but he helped me. And Mickey. Good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I write things that are supposed to appear later in the text, but this time the fic took a rather unexpected turn for me, and what I wrote no longer has a place in it. But since I already wrote it I will leave it here for you to enjoy.
> 
>   _“I saw the video,” Mickey knows this tone. Every time he’s heard it before it was when Ian was horny. It’s the same now, the redhead is close enough that he can feel the prominent erection pressing against his ass. “The one he is fucking you with this huge black dildo. I couldn’t believe it fit in your ass.”  
>  He doesn’t say anything, although he should. He should push the younger man away. Instead, he breathes slowly, waiting for Ian’s next move. When he feels a stiff, clothed dick rubbing against him, and he has to swallow a whimper.   
> “You were so swollen, it looked painful.”  
> He knows exactly which video they are talking about. Jerome saw nothing unusual in buying a horse dildo and shoving it into Mickey who, instead of opposing, swallowed the whole thing even though the stretch was unbelievable. After, he was so sore that he couldn’t sit, yet he loved every second of it.   
> “It hurt,” he admits, the redhead moans in his ear. And then he registers what they are talking about. “How the fuck did you see it?”  
> He turns around and shoves Ian away, trying to avoid looking at his crotch.  
> “I was around, and I saw a laptop, the video was paused on a shot of you sucking on a dildo.”  
> “So you just watched it?”  
> “Yeah, what else was I supposed to do?”  
> “How about respect my privacy?!”  
> Ian doesn’t look ashamed, quite the opposite. With a determined look on his face he unzips, pulls out his cock and starts to masturbate right in front of Mickey who is so shell-shocked that he simply stands there. It doesn’t take long for Ian to come with a moan that sounds like Mickey’s name.   
> _


	6. Chapter 6

Ian hopes that the authorities will transport Jerome back to Gotham since they went as far as to send the officers from Gotham to catch him. It would make everything easier. Mickey wouldn’t follow Valeska, that would be ridiculous. His hopes turn out to be fruitless because someone decides that Jerome can stay in Chicago, and Mickey visits him whenever he can, like a good little boyfriend. The jealousy rears its ugly head, and Ian doesn't spare nasty comments, but he has enough tact to share them only with Debbie, who at one point threatens to sew his mouth shut if he doesn’t stop acting like a bitch.   
He thought that things would get easier with Jerome gone, but Mickey is more loyal than ever, dutifully visiting his psychotic, murderous partner. Once, Ian could have the exact same thing, but he was too much of a child to appreciate it. Apart from jealousy there is also anger, slowly getting bigger, filling his veins with fire. Even when their relationship was good Mickey hasn’t been this loyal. They both cheated, but at least Ian had an excuse, he was sick. The older boy was just trying to get back at him. But now he is a poster boy, real fucking saint, faithful to his crazy boyfriend. It must be a joke, there is no other explanation.   
And explanation, whether he deserves it or not, is what Ian wants. So he goes to Mick’s house, already worked up from his own inner monologues, and the other man seems somewhat happy to see him. Before he can ask his questions Mickey says almost shyly, “It’s good that you came over. J wants you to come with me, for a visit.” It doesn’t take much to realize that the older man didn’t want to call him, that’s why he looks so relieved to see him. Ian is too taken-aback to say ‘no’, so he nods like a mindless puppet. There is nothing that he wants less than to meet his brother again. He doesn’t want to watch Mickey’s eyes sparkling with happiness the second he sees the older man, he doesn’t want to be a spectator. Yet he comes because once he said ‘yes’ he really can’t say ‘no’, he doesn’t know how. There is also curiosity which he is unsuccessfully trying to suppress. There is nothing but anger and jealousy between Jerome and him. He will never admit that he fears the older man. Not that there is anything weird or wrong about fearing a serial killer, but if Mick is not afraid then Ian can’t be either. They don’t talk on the way to the hospital. Mickey concentrates unnecessarily hard on driving in an obvious attempt at distancing himself from Ian. Or maybe he is simply nervous.  
The hospital makes him feel cold, but it’s much better when he isn’t a patient. He shouldn’t even feel this way, it wasn’t the hospital’s fault that he wasn’t ready to admit that he has a problem. Unlike Jerome, who seems pretty comfortable with the fact that he is crazy. He probably shouldn’t say that to anyone, or even think, he isn’t always safe in his own head.  
His brother is pale like a ghost, even paler than before which should be impossible to achieve. Most probably he is not allowed to leave the building just yet. It would, it did drive Ian crazy. It’s different when the choice is yours. It’s fine when you decide to stay in, but when someone keeps you locked up every part of you rebels against it. Still, he finds it hard to feel sorry for the older man. He did kill _fifteen people_. Ian can’t really get over that. They always heard stories about Terry being a murderer, it’s a well-known fact that at least one of his victims ended up being paralyzed, but no one really believed that he killed someone on purpose. What Jerome did… And the fact that his sister isn’t at all bothered by any of it hits hard. He doesn’t really know Debbie anymore, does he? But, if he has to be honest with himself, he knew that already. At this point they all pretend to be a close family.  
Jerome is already waiting for them in a small room. There are no cameras and they are left all alone, surely it’s against the protocol? Valeska is considered dangerous, they shouldn’t be leaving them alone with him. He might not hurt Mickey, but Ian doesn’t feel all that safe with a grinning maniac staring right at him. The door gets even locked, as if it’s a normal thing to do in a mental hospital. Jerome must have bribed someone. There is a small cot and just one chair, his brother ignores him at the moments, pulling Mickey towards himself and making a show of kissing him hello. It’s a deep kiss, all tongue and a bit of groping. Ian’s face burns, the anger starting to build up again.  
“I’ll be here for a long time,” Jerome says, finally detaching himself from Mickey’s face, but not letting him go. They are kind of embracing. It’s disgusting. “A long, long time. I know Mickey will wait, but it can get lonely.”  
The older man leads his boyfriend towards the cot, and Mick goes without any struggle, sits on it like a good boy. Jerome grabs Ian by the wrist and pushes him to sit next to him. “I don’t think either of us wants him lonely, hm?” It’s not really a question that requires an answer, but Ian finds himself nodding, already feeling warm from the tiny thigh to thigh contact. It’s pathetic, even more so when Jerome smirks at him knowingly, still holding his wrist hostage. “We need to do something about it,” his brother continues, slowly bringing Ian’s hand towards Mick’s strong thigh. “You can’t be alone with your needs, baby.”   
Jerome kisses his boyfriend again, lips smacking against each other wetly. At the same time he places Ian’s hand on top of Mickey’s fly where he can feel the slight swell hidden under the material. He can also feel his ex trying to move away, but Jerome keeps him in place, murmuring sweet nothings.   
“Let us take care of you,” Valeska croons before unzipping his boyfriend’s jeans and pulling them down. Mickey isn’t wearing any underwear, and Ian really, really wants to suck his beautiful cock. So he does before he talks himself out of it. He can’t help but moan obscenely when a thick head hits the back of his throat. He missed it so much. He did, no matter how ridiculous it might sound. He likes sucking cock, he can get that anywhere, but with Mickey it reminds him of the times everything’s been simpler. Even though now he is doing this only because Jerome lets him, he is still going to enjoy every second of it.   
Mick’s breathing picks up the way it always does when he is aroused, he makes breathy little sounds that Ian finds unbelievably cute. He starts to caress the naked skin, fingers sneaking under the tight shirt that Mickey is wearing. No one stops him, so he becomes bolder, reaching behind his ex, squeezing the amazing ass and sliding his fingers between the cheeks to the small opening. Another hand joins his, slick with lube, and two fingers should be too much too soon when they both slide in, but Mick moans with pleasure. Ian wants to kiss him. He still remembers how soft the older boy’s lips are, how warm the inside of his mouth is. Ian kissed many boys and men, but the kisses were never as special as the ones he got from the Milkovich. Those were a hard-earned privilege, not easily given away. Other boys would kiss him all the time, three minutes into a discussion their tongues would find their ways into his mouth like they belonged there. He never met anyone like Mickey, before or after, it used to annoy him, but then he realized that their kisses carried more meaning than any other kiss he’s ever shared with a person. He always understands things too late, that’s his thing. Being too late, making himself and people around him miserable because he doesn’t think twice before acting. Not anymore though, he is changing, not only for himself.  
Something brushes his hair lightly, he looks up to see Mickey’s hand. The touch is shy, like the other many isn’t sure what he is allowed to do. They are actors in Jerome’s play, but when the oldest man doesn’t object the touch becomes more confident. So does Ian when he gives one last suck, straightens up and presses a kiss against Mick’s still clothed collarbone. They aren’t going to get completely naked in there, not with so many people outside, Ian has no idea how much time they have. He startles when Jerome unzips him and pulls out his dick like it’s completely natural to touch your brother’s cock. Not that they are close, but it’s still uncomfortable. At least he is allowed to put a condom himself when it’s given to him.   
Mickey doesn’t even flinch when he pushes another two fingers in him or when Ian slides behind him on a cot before making him sit on his dick. Ian’s eyes burn with unshed tears, it’s definitely not a reaction you should have when someone’s marvelous ass is hugging your cock, but he can’t help it. It’s not even Mick’s decision, he is doing this because that’s what Jerome wants, the oldest man controls every little step they take. When Ian tries to bite his ex-boyfriend’s arm Jerome’s hand is there to stop him. No bruises, no marking, just slow fucking, Mickey’s hips moving in small circles, riding him. He can’t breathe, it’s too overwhelming. He really stops breathing when something squeezes in next to his cock, his brother’s fingers stretching Mick’s hole impossibly wide. It feels so good, the pressure is incredible, he’s never felt anything like that. But the best part comes when Jerome’s bare dick joins his, Mickey’s next moan sounds pained, and he leans back to rest his head on Ian’s shoulder. Ian noses along the long line of his pale throat before licking it all the way to older man’s chin. He feels Mick move a bit and then they are kissing, sharp little teeth closing on his lower lip. Ian’s hips jerk uncontrollably at that, making them all groan. After that Jerome sets a much faster pace, pounding into the small man without much consideration. Mickey must like it, he is saying his boyfriend’s name over and over again until Ian has enough and captures his lips again, fucking between them with his tongue, forcing his way inside.   
Ian has never done this before, it never appealed to him, sharing a guy this way. He had threesomes, but they always followed the ‘one dick at a time’ rule, not trusting guys to know their limits. He also thought that it might be disgusting, having another dick rubbing against his in a tiny space. He was very wrong, the pressure is so amazing he doesn’t want it to end, he wants to stay inside Mickey forever. But in the end, if he had to choose, he wouldn’t let Jerome stay.   
He loses the ability to think the second Mick squeezes around them and starts moving his hips with purpose, grinding on Ian’s dick. The redhead grasps his hips trying to slow him down, but it’s too late, he can already feel his balls tightening. A whine escapes his lips when he comes, hoping that the condom will break and coat Mickey’s insides with his sperm. But it’s Jerome who is the lucky one, who can pump his boyfriend to brim, whose cum Ian has to touch when he removes the condom. Jerome is smiling at him again, it doesn’t look like a happy smile. It’s a mask, a warning followed by a quiet, “Be good to him.” Ian almost wants to straighten up and shout, ‘sir, yes, sir’.

The drive home is tense. Ian tried to kiss Mickey when they left the hospital, but the older man sighed and shook his head. It could be too early, and it’s not like Mick has to do everything Jerome tells him to. Just because Ian is ready to swallow his pride doesn’t mean that his ex is interested – yet his blue eyes seem to tell a different story, with the way he avoids looking at the redhead. But it might be all in Ian’s head, his own want. He tries again two days later, not ready to give up just yet. He only gets to kiss the thin skin on the inside of Mickey’s wrist before the other man shoves him away. The same thing happens three more times before Ian decides to give the older man some space. And he really needs to concentrate on his own life.   
Few weeks earlier he took some time to think about his life, really look at it. He loved the fact that he finally felt like his own self, that the pills were working and his mind was clear. But he disliked his job. He always did, but at first he wouldn’t allow himself think that, after all he should be grateful that he could work again. Fiona used to encourage him to do better, but nowadays no one cared until he started. It’s his life, his regrets – he has enough of those, doesn’t need to add any more.   
He started a paramedic course without telling anyone. He wasn’t ready for their expectations. If he fails then no one will know. Ian didn’t even consider it an option, but then he found the course while browsing the internet aimlessly. Its biggest perk was that it had three free places for people from the underprivileged backgrounds, people like him. His life story easily got him a spot, they were in love with how broken he used to be, it would make such a great success story if he managed to finish the course. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a paramedic by the time he took his place in the classroom, but the second they started going through the material, discussing what the future potentially holds for them, Ian got sucked into it. He liked the idea of helping people, of being useful. It’s a bit cliché, but he felt like he owed something to the world. He still has a lot to learn, there is always something new to learn, and it helps him forget about Mickey. No, not forget, just put him aside for a while. There are tests and exams to worry about, there is pushing life into someone’s lungs. Making a difference is more exhilarating than he ever thought it would be.  
Of course his teachers know about his disorder, and they are concerned. He talks about it a lot more than he is used to, but being able to discuss it with someone who isn’t close to him is freeing. They are not judging him for it, even though sometimes it feels like they are. All they want is to make sure he isn’t going to let people die. It motivates him to keep his routine, to run to his psychiatrist the second something doesn’t feel right. His life might not be worth it, but he isn’t willing to put other people’s lives on the line. He feels very mature when he thinks about it. It’s new as well, being an adult. He likes it.  
Ian gives himself a month to concentrate fully on school and work before visiting Mickey again. The house is really quiet when he gets there. Two people don’t really make much noise, but the house seems empty when he stands in front of it. Maybe he should have called to check, but it’s too late now, so he rings the bell and waits. His sister opens the door, she looks awful. The shadows under her eyes are so dark that they resemble bruises, she is wearing a t-shirt that is much too big for her, and she is sickly pale. That’s what really has him worried, he touches her forehead before she can greet him.   
“I’m not sick,” she grumbles.   
“You look sick.”  
“I’m not,” Debbie’s voice is a little louder, a bit more annoyed. He hasn’t even done anything yet, so it has to be something else that is bothering her. She lets him in, but she doesn’t look too happy about it.  
“Wha…”  
“Jerome is dead,” Debbie interrupts him before he can finish.  
“Jesus, wha…”  
“Got stabbed. In the n…neck. By another patient. Their security is fucking useless.”  
“Jesus, how is Mick taking it?”  
That’s what breaks his sister. She doesn’t wail or do anything that undignified, she grew out of teenage dramatics, but suddenly her face is all wet with tears. It’s clear that she isn’t mourning Jerome. She is crying for, or because of, Mickey.   
“He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t eat. He is like you only worse, because he doesn’t even cry. I tried everything, but he ignores me. I don’t think he sleeps much.”  
“How long has it been?”  
“Three days.”  
Ian thinks he knows what to expect. He remembers being like this, but it turns out to be much different when it’s someone else, when you can feel everything. At first it’s not too bad, Mickey is simply lying on a bed, slightly curled up with his back turned towards the door. Ian comes closer when his greeting is ignored. He wants to see the older boy’s face. There are no traces of tears, Mick’s eyes aren’t red or puffy. He really hasn’t been crying.   
“Would you like something to eat?” Ian asks because he has no idea what else to say. ‘I’m sorry’? Who the fuck cares whether he is sorry or not, it won’t bring Jerome back. ‘It will get better’? The fuck it will, it’s the second time Mickey lost someone he loved. ‘I’m here for you’? Again, it probably means nothing to the grieving man. There is no answer. There is nothing. Mick barely blinks. Ian falls asleep and when he wakes up the other man also is sleeping, or at least his eyes are closed.  
Ian knows how to help a drowning man and how to treat burns. He has no idea how to deal with a broken heart. He never suffered through heartbreak this severe. Maybe with Monica, but it’s different, so much different. Mickey is mostly alone, Ian had family. Mick has Debbie, Yevgeny and that’s it. Ian isn’t cocky enough to think that he earned the place on this short list. Mick’s love is as hard to earn as his kisses, and for him to lose someone… Ian can’t imagine what it feels like. He lies behind the older man, trying to share his warmth, but gives up after a while. It feels too much like taking advantage of Mick’s state. He spends nights in the living room, leaving only for work and school, Debbie is always there when Ian isn’t. They don’t talk much, they definitely don’t voice their biggest concern. Is Mickey thinking about killing himself? They watch him, day after day.   
Ian wanted Jerome gone, that’s true. But he never wanted his brother dead, no matter what he did. He should have known that there aren’t many choices for people like Jerome. They either live and kill or get killed. He wonders if Jerome knew, if that’s why he wanted to see the two of them, fuck them. Was it his fucked up blessing? A weird way to say ‘goodbye’?  
“Maybe he faked it, he did that before,” Ian muses and Mickey blinks. This is how their conversations go. The older man is getting thin.  
It goes on for two weeks. After two weeks Ian wakes up to find Mick’s bedroom empty. He searches for him frantically, but finds nothing. Then he takes a deep breath and checks again. This time he finds a damp towel, the clothes that Mickey’s been wearing in the hamper. Surely a person who intends to commit suicide wouldn’t see a point in doing it? He tries calling the older man, but Mick doesn’t answer. So he waits.  
The front door opens at five pm. The steps are too heavy to be Debbie’s. Ian is ready to cry.  
“Where were you?” he asks instead.  
“I went to work.”  
And that’s it. Mickey went to work.


	7. Chapter 7

Sex with Ian and Jerome was good. More than good, it was amazing. He wanted more, fuck did he want more. More of Ian, Ian’s big cock, his warm lips. He could have it, Jerome let him have it. But it felt wrong with his boyfriend still held in a hospital. He also wasn’t a toy to be passed over to another owner. So when the younger man tried to kiss him, Mickey pulled away. He wanted that kiss, the bed felt cold and lonely without Jerome around, but he couldn’t.  
Jerome is dead.  
He doesn’t believe it when he gets a call. It’s too surreal, too impossible. J was supposed to be it for him, his endgame. The older man promised. But a crazy man with a knife doesn’t really care much for other people’s promises.  
It’s early morning when they call him. They didn’t wait, he is grateful for that. They also failed to provide sufficient protection, and he wants to burn the whole place to the ground with everyone inside, patients and staff alike. He has to go and identify the body, just in case, and it is Jerome’s pale, cold body that is shown to him. The blood has been cleaned up, the wound covered not to scare him. As if it could. He wants to put a finger in it, like a fucking doubting Thomas that he is. They don’t let him, he barely gets to touch his love’s cheek before he is ushered out. He can’t breathe. They are talking to him, but he lost the ability to understand English language. His brain registers that he is muttering in Ukrainian, so he stops completely. And he doesn’t say anything for the next three weeks.  
Jerome is dead.  
Ian comes for a visit and then doesn’t leave. Mickey sees and hears him, but he doesn’t care. Deep inside Ian is probably happy that his competition is gone. Nothing about his behaviour says he is, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Mickey doesn’t think, at least he wouldn’t call whatever his brain is doing ‘thinking’. It keeps feeding him images of a happy, smiling Jerome and then sucker punches him with J’s unmoving body. He lies there, the bed too cold with only one person in it, and the torture won’t stop. Ian talks to him about his day, and all Mickey sees are Jerome’s fingers turning blue.   
J e r o m e i s d e a d.  
And Mickey doesn’t know if he wants to be alive without the older man in his life. He is a real faggot now, Terry would be happy to see him act like a pussy over a dead boyfriend. Screw Terry, screw everyone. He dreams about alcohol poisoning, drug overdose, blood flowing from the open wrists, ropes straining under the weight. It brings him peace, and for the first time in forever he wonders whether Ian felt like this during his episodes. The redhead tries spooning him, but soon gives up. Mickey is already suffocating, being touched – however briefly, is too much.   
Because Jerome has been murdered and nothing will reverse it.   
Ian talks to him about J faking it, but Mickey saw, _touched_ the body. It was stone cold, no trace of life left inside, just an empty shell. Jerome was always moving, fingers twitching even when he was resting. The body was so still that Mickey wanted to push it just to see it move.  
He misses the days when anger and frustration were the only things he felt. He was by no means happy, but at least back then ‘emotional turmoil’ was just a phrase to him. He blames Ian for teaching him how to feel and then leaving. He blames Jerome for not sticking to his promises.  
It’s been three weeks, his boyfriend is still dead and Mickey has to go to work. Not because he is any better, or because he wants to, but because he only took three weeks off. They would’ve given him months, but he knows that he would give up then, there isn’t even a spark of motivation left inside him. He is trying to push himself for Jerome, who saved him in more ways than one.   
People at work watch him too. He pretends not to see their worried glances when he replaces oil. Someone tries to talk to him, persuade him to go home, but he acts as if he doesn’t understand why they are worried. He doesn’t make any mistakes, he is too good for that. Steady hands no matter what. He hardly needs to think, his body knows what to do. He almost throws up when lunch time comes, he can’t stomach anything.  
Ian is gone from his skin, but he is in the house when Mickey gets there. The redhead looks almost sick with worry, and he almost apologizes for not leaving a note or texting, but he doesn’t owe the younger man anything.  
“Where were you?”  
“I went to work.”  
“You could have told me…” Ian says softly.  
“You are not my keeper.”  
The redhead’s lips open, but he thinks better of it and closes them before asking, “What do you want for dinner?”  
“Nothing, I’m not hungry.”  
Mickey takes a shower, then he tries to read. When it doesn’t work he tries music, browsing the internet. For some reason he can’t do anything but lie on his bed and stare at the wall. It’s not even interesting. At one point he loses focus, it’s not really sleeping, but when the bed dips under Ian’s weight it takes him few seconds to get his bearings.   
“Go home, Ian,” he murmurs, completely exhausted.   
“I want to help.”  
Mickey wants to say that there is nothing the younger boy can do to help, but even grieving he can’t be that cruel. Even if he didn’t respond, he’s heard everything the redhead said while Mickey was playing dead to the world. It seems that Ian is trying really hard to make something of his life, but the Gallaghers aren’t really helping. He might be an asshole, but he isn’t cruel. When he thinks about it… Yes, in the end cruelty has always been Ian’s specialty.  
“What if I really want you to leave?” he asks just to put up a bit of a fight. For a while there is a heavy silence behind him, though he can hear Ian breathing faster as if he is panicking.  
“Then I will leave.” Soon after that Mickey falls asleep with his ex still behind him.

Friday evening sees him in a bar, going at it too hard. He drinks so much that he blacks out before midnight and wakes up around four am in a back room, still drunk. The bartender tries to give him some life advice, but he drinks one more whiskey before going home. It doesn’t surprise him that Ian is wide awake, waiting. They fall asleep in the same bed, not touching at all. Mickey knows that the younger man wants to touch, Ian always found comfort in skin on skin contact, but the mere thought makes Mickey’s skin crawl.  
Alcohol is not an answer, so next weekend he turns to drugs. He doesn’t remember the last time he took drugs, it seemed somewhat risky with Jerome around. At least one of them had to think clearly, and it wasn’t always so obvious with J, even when the other man was taking his pills. But of course now his boyfriend is dead, so he can indulge in everything he wants. He can smoke crack until his throat burns, snort coke until his nose bleeds and fill his veins with heroin until his heart stops beating.   
It’s still beating when he wakes up on Sunday morning, bones hurting. His pale skin is littered with bruises, but he has no recollection of the previous evening. Ian is sitting next to him, it looks like he hasn’t slept a whole lot, and he is sporting a black eye.   
“You punched me when I tried to help you undress,” the redhead says without being prompted. “I wasn’t trying… I just wanted you to be comfortable.”  
“I don’t remember shit, man. Sorry I hit you.”  
“Oh, no, I didn’t expect he apology.”  
“Yeah, well, it’s not cool.”  
“Did he… did he ever hit you?”  
“No,” Mickey realizes too late how offended he sounds, but it’s obvious to him that Jerome would never lay a hand on him. Then he remembers what his relationship with Ian used to be like, and the redhead’s suddenly wet eyes make much more sense. “We were different, man. I’m a different person than I was before prison.”  
“Even then you were good for me,” Ian quietly admits. Mickey doesn’t return the sentiment. He loved everything about Ian, but their relationship was far from perfect. Not that he wanted perfection, he just learned to appreciate peace. Fist fights are fun, but not when you are hurting someone you love. They both were kind of bad for each other, Mickey just tried harder to fix himself.  
He does drugs few more times, but they don’t feel right like they used to when he was younger. They make him forget everything. One would think it‘s the whole point of this, but Mickey knows better. He works harder than ever in his life, making more money than he needs. He goes out almost every evening, leaving Ian behind.  
It’s been two months and three weeks, Jerome is gone, gone, _gone_. Mickey’s lower lip gets split open by a cock just before his ass gets similar treatment. It burns, it hurts, and turns out to be exactly what he needs. He doesn’t enjoy it like he did with J, hell no, it’s not about the pleasure, half of the time his dick isn’t even hard. But he remembers every second, and it hurts so good. The alcohol and drugs aren’t necessary. Mickey just goes to a bar, not always a gay one, lights a cigarette and waits. His clothes are a bit tighter, trousers always glued to his ass like a second skin showing that he is open for business. He dismisses the shy, polite guys offering him drinks and a nice place to drink them. He ignores the redheads. The strong, arrogant guys who can smack him around are the ones that interest him. His face gets scraped on the rough brick outside of bars, his knees turn purplish blue from kneeling on the cold bathroom tiles for too long. He barely can talk after he is done, throat sore from the brutal fucking it receives. He limps home every time, but for some reason it takes Ian almost two weeks to piece things together. He should catch on faster, he’s seen Mickey like this multiple times, he was the cause of his limp once. Maybe he just doesn’t want to see it. Not that Mickey cares because this cold, verging on violent fucking helps him get up in the morning and pretend like he cares that the world is still turning.   
Ian doesn’t say anything, that’s the only weird part. Usually the redhead has a hard time keeping his mouth shut, but now he just sighs and looks at Mickey with lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line. There is so much free space between them when they fall asleep that one more person could easily fit in there.  
“Ian kind of moved in,” Debbie says one day, and he has a hard time deciding whether she is complaining or not.  
“I guess,” he mutters into his peanut butter sandwich, not really hungry.   
“Is he helping?”  
Mickey doesn’t know the answer to that.

Debbie is in a pretty good place. She isn’t mourning Jerome, and Mickey’s sadness makes her own heart ache, but her own life is good. She has no boyfriend, but she doesn’t need one. Straight boyfriends are useless. Her grades are good, she made some new friends, and she doesn’t fear going home because she knows that nothing bad is waiting for her there. No Frank reeking of vomit and vodka, no Fiona with her drama. Even Ian’s presence isn’t that annoying anymore. Mickey doesn’t say anything about money, doesn’t make her pay for anything, so for the first time in forever she works because she wants to, not because she is forced to do it.   
Mickey probably thinks she doesn’t know about his new habit, but Debbie prides herself in being smart and observant, and the way Mick moves stiffly around the house is more than telling. She knows how to use the internet and according to it anal sex can be really painful and damaging. She almost prefers drugs to this self-destructive mourning fucking that Mickey indulges in. Debbie tries to keep him busy, but she can’t force him to stay. Food doesn’t work, Mickey eats enough to survive, and the cakes she bakes are left untouched until she or Ian eat them.   
“You will get STD if you keep fucking everything that moves.”  
“Maybe,” Mickey nods like it’s not a big deal. She knows that Ian gave him STD once, but it was something minor like herpes. She worries that this time it might be AIDS, the older man is bound to run out of luck one day.   
“You are not indestructible,” she tries again.  
“I know.” The grin that follows is the ugliest thing she’s seen in weeks.   
She decides on a different approach then. Ian’s help is out of question, her brother seems to be in some sort of a hissy fit over Mickey’s new coping mechanism, but instead of talking about it he is being passive aggressive like a stubborn child. Everything is _fine_ with him, so Debbie goes to Svetlana. She doesn’t like the Russian woman, for many different reasons. Overall Lana isn’t a bad person, but Debbie dislikes her anyway, she’s heard enough. She only needs the kid anyway, Yevgeny is adorable, and she really doesn’t know how he can be Mickey’s and Svetlana’s child.   
The next time Mickey tries to leave in the evening, Debbie shoves Yev in his arms and makes herself scarce before he can complain. Earlier she made sure that Ian won’t be home until at least midnight. She is pretty proud of her plan, even more so when she comes back and goes to Mick’s bedroom to check up on them. The Milkovich is asleep, curled around his son’s small body. Ian, meanwhile, is half-sitting, half-lying and stroking his ex-boyfriend’s hair like he is still allowed to do that. Their eyes meet for a second, guilt flashes through her brother’s hazel eyes, but then his chin juts out in defiance as if Debbie was going to scold him. Maybe she was, but she definitely isn’t going to now. They all have things they cling to that maybe aren’t for them. Or maybe they are, she doesn’t know anymore. She used to hate the idea of Ian and Mickey getting back together, but it was before Jerome died and her brother started to act like he was actually pretty mature.  
Her distraction strategy works only for a week and a half before Mickey threatens to kick her out. She stops bringing Yev every day not because she is afraid, he would never carry out his threat, but because she doesn’t want Mick to hate the boy. She already has another plan anyway. She is resourceful like that.

***

Mickey comes to work with the tattoo removal guy’s cum staining his underwear, and Ralph gives him a car. Those two things are not connected, they just happen in very close vicinity. His boss doesn’t explain why, just gives him the keys and says, “You will need to work hard on her.” She is a dark blue chevy, and it would be a dream coming true, only Jerome is not here to talk his ear off while Mickey works on his car. There is radio instead when everyone else goes home. Or silence under all the clinking. Just him and the car.  
The car is old, but he has all the time in the world. Every night his hands are caked with dust and grease, and it puts some guys off, but most of them think that it’s hot to fuck a dirty, rough guy. He doesn’t go out as much anymore, some days he is too tired to look for a decent cock. Debbie’s smug little smile tells him everything he needs to know, but it doesn’t really matter. At least it’s not a child this time. He can admit that he loves Yev, but having him alone, every day, was a bit too much. This though… He knows he can bring this car to life again, it’s something he finds comforting.  
Ian starts coming to the garage in the evening to watch him work. Not to talk, just to watch. It’s not comfortable silence, but there is something about Ian’s quiet judgment that makes Mickey and stops him from kicking the redhead out. He sits next to Mickey, watches his every move and never says a thing. Until he does.  
“Why won’t you ask me? I can do it.”  
“Can you fuck me so hard that I won’t walk straight? So hard that you hurt me? That I will be bruised and bleeding?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can you do that without feeling guilty? Without feeling anything at all?”  
“No.”  
“And here is your answer.”  
“I don’t want you hurting anymore,” Ian looks at him pleadingly. “It’s enough, Mick.”  
“I fucking need it.”  
“No you don’t. It’s not healthy or safe. Jerome did everything he could to protect you, and you are screwing this up.”  
Mickey’s fist connects with Ian’s sharp cheekbone before he can think twice about it. He is on the younger man, straddling his thighs and pummeling Ian everywhere he can. The redhead doesn’t fight back, he tries to cover the sensitive parts before catching Mickey by the wrists and flipping them over, so he is towering over the smaller man who is gasping for breath like he’s forgotten how to do it properly, his face blotchy.  
“Why won’t you just fucking cry?” Ian asks in desperation, leaning down so their foreheads are touching, faces too close.  
“Because I fucking can’t.”  
Because Jerome is dead and nothing can change that. 


	8. Chapter 8

“I know it feels like you will never be whole again, but you will heal son,” Ralph mumbles awkwardly around his cigarette. “I know you all think I’m a clueless, old fart, but I’ve went through this before. The longer you live, the more people you lose, and it doesn’t get any easier. The losing part. But you always heal, this is how we are made. And you are tough, boy, I rarely see kids as tough as you.” Mickey doesn’t feel tough, but if he objects Ralph will never shut up about it, so he just nods. It pisses him off that everyone at the garage is so careful with him. He doesn’t need to be coddled. There is no point, it doesn’t make him feel any better.  
Like almost every other American he has a mobile phone, but there are only five personal numbers on his. One for Debbie, one for Ralph, one for Ian, one for Svetlana and one for Jerome that won’t be used ever again and should be removed, but he is not doing that any time soon. Debbie sometimes calls him to ask about food, Svetlana to schedule meetings with Yev, Ian happened without him noticing, and Ralph is there just in case he can’t come to work. So when his phone rings at three am on Saturday he is sure that someone called him by accident. He picks up anyway, if only to give the caller a piece of his mind.   
“Listen, you…” he knows that his voice sounds threatening when he is barely awake but already pissed off. The person on the other side interrupts him before he can finish the thought.  
“You fucking douchebag, why didn’t you tell me you they let you out months ago? I’m your favourite sister, dickhead!” It continues like this for a while, Mickey doesn’t interrupt her because for some reason it’s something he finds comforting. They haven’t talked in a long time, and he missed Mandy. He could have called, but no one has ever mentioned his sister, and he was afraid that she wouldn’t pick up. And there was also the fact that he was so wrapped up in his own life, with Jerome and Debbie in it, that it felt like he didn’t need his own flesh and blood around. They are Milkoviches, they deal with what they have.  
“Bitch, you are the one who ran away. And by the way, who gave you my number? Was it Ian?”  
“Or Lana, or maybe Debbie, right? You will never know who ratted you out.”  
“He still beating you?”   
Mandy’s sigh is barely audible, but it is there, “I dumped him and moved out, now I’m living with some girls from school.”  
“What fucking school?”  
“I’m, uh, I’m learning how to design and sew stuff? I met this girl, thought she is a bitch, but she is quite nice, she encouraged me,” Mandy sounds almost shy, like she is afraid he is going to ridicule her for that. The asshole she’s been dating probably did that, making her feel like she doesn’t deserve good future. Hell, younger Mickey would have laughed about it, but now he just grunts ‘good for you’ which makes her babble about her friends and classes she is taking. He doesn’t care about fabrics or patterns, or sewing techniques, but he likes Mandy’s voice when she is happy. He has to go to the kitchen when Ian stirs like he is going to wake up and ends up staying there for two hours. When he crawls back under the sheets he is exhausted yet his head feels alright.   
Mandy was always a nosy bitch, but it’s not until their third phone call that she mentions Jerome. He isn’t surprised that she knows about him, whoever gave her his number most probably did it because of J. She is gentle in a way that he doesn’t remember her being, so when she asks him about Jerome he tells her everything. He wouldn’t be able to get it all out if she was next to him, but once he starts talking it’s like an unstoppable word vomit. He has never said so many things at once, usually he keeps his internal monologues just to himself. Turns up there is only this much you can bottle up before you break. At least it’s not Ian who gets to listen to the nonsense that comes out of his mouth.  
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”  
“Shut up,” he doesn’t want her to talk like that. It’s not them, they are not pussies, it’s not a Milkovich way.   
“Fuck off Mick, I can say whatever I want, and you are going to listen to me because I’m tired of your ‘thug’ bullshit. You got fucked over by life, and I am sorry I wasn’t there.”  
“It’s not like I fucking helped you when you were a punching bag,” Mickey says bitterly.   
“As if I would listen. We all think we know best. But anyway, I should come for a visit.”  
“No, don’t. You have something good going for you, I don’t want you coming back here because you think I need you.”  
“You do need me! So maybe you should come to me,” it doesn’t seem like she means a short visit.  
He considers. He thinks about not only going, but moving to Indiana. He could sell the house, easily find a job with his new skills, get a fresh start in life. No one would know him there, the ‘fuck u up’ tattoo could be blamed on a turbulent past. And for a second it’s almost something he wants, being away from the shitshow that is Chicago. It sounds like freedom. It also sounds like giving up and running away, and he’s done enough of running. He can’t leave Debbie behind, but she wouldn’t be able to come with him. There is Ian who is doing so well, but still seems so fragile. And Mickey might not owe him, but he doesn’t want to lose another person. He is a selfish bastard. He says, “Maybe one day,” but it’s a clear ‘no’.  
For some reason, the knowledge that Mandy is doing alright makes waking up easier. During one of their nightly chats Debbie comments on how unexpected it is that being with someone like Jerome taught him to appreciate people around him, and Mickey never looked at it this way, but he can definitely see it once it’s been pointed out to him. When he goes back to bed he lies really close to Ian and nudges him lightly. The redhead is groggy and confused when his eyes flutter open, exactly what Mickey wants.  
“Do you love me?”  
“Wha..?”  
“Do you love me?”  
“Of course I love you*,” Ian mumbles into the pillow, eyes already closing.   
Of course he fucking does. Mickey has to go to the bathroom, hysterical laughter already bubbling in his chest. He laughs into a towel until he can’t breathe anymore and ends up falling asleep in a tub because he doesn’t want to sleep next to Gallagher, who seeks him out in the morning anyway.  
“I was half asleep. It wasn’t cool, Mick.”  
“You know what’s not cool?” he asks clambering out of a tub, neck stiff from the uncomfortable sleeping position. “You telling me now that you love me when you never said it before. Not even once, Ian.”  
“If you didn’t want to know then why did you have to ask?” Ian is not embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, he is getting in Mickey’s face, not letting him move any further.   
“I don’t know.”   
“I think you do. You are just afraid to admit that you need me here. And I’m okay with it for now, I am here.”

***

For weeks after Jerome’s death Ian doesn’t let himself think about Mickey in a way that plagued him before. He has to prove himself, show that he can be relied on. Their roles are reversed, Ian finally being the one trying to help while Mickey refused to be helped. The interesting part was that he actually enjoyed playing ‘nurse’. He didn’t like the part where Mick was falling apart, but taking care of the older man made Ian feel really close to him, and that’s something he missed. That’s why, when sleeping around started, he treated it as an affront. Debbie thought it was because Mickey didn’t want him. She was right.  
Something shifts when Mandy calls. Slowly, Mickey’s skin starts losing the greyish hue, the skin under his brilliant blue eyes brightening, making him look alive again. Sometimes he even answers Debbie with the tiniest of smiles. Sometimes, his eyes are soft when Ian talks to him. He still fucks strangers like his life depends on it, but he doesn’t look like he is on the verge of having a meltdown when he comes home. Ian relaxes, deciding that his ex needs a bit more time to understand that being a slut won’t help.  
In the meantime, Fiona finally calls. He hasn’t been home in weeks, and he hasn’t even noticed. He doesn’t want to come back. He is shamelessly stealing someone else’s spot, but it’s the only chance he will ever get. He is under no illusion that he would stand a chance with Jerome still around.  
Mandy calls again, and the older man asks him about love. Ian realizes that he loves this new Mickey who showers every day, isn’t afraid to explore his kinks or be with a man. Quite possibly, he loves him even more than before, but this change comes from him. His mind is calm, and he can appreciate that while the older man definitely can throw a punch, he does it only when the situation forces him to, instead of lashing out every time he feels uncomfortable.  
Ian starts getting closer. Physically, because that’s the language Mickey knows best. He starts in bed, moving close enough that he can feel the heat coming from the older man’s body. He is so close that he can smell Mick’s skin, and it doesn’t fail to make him hard. The first night Mickey backs away almost to the edge, but then he settles. They don’t talk about it, and Ian tries to ignore erections he keeps waking up with. In any other situation he would be worried that it’s his disorder acting up, but he knows it’s the close proximity to the other man that makes his body go crazy.  
Ian tries to insert himself in almost every aspect of the older man’s life again. Mandy calls him crazy, but it doesn’t stop him from following Mick to the bar and beating up a guy who tries to fuck his ex in a dark alley. Which, when he thinks about it later, is really fucking crazy, but it must work because it’s the last time Mickey goes out to get fucked.

He catches Mickey putting Jerome’s things in boxes, hiding them in one of the rooms that no one uses. He wishes he didn’t when the other man presses his face into a soft looking shirt, smelling it before putting it away with other clothes. Mickey is unnervingly quiet for the rest of the day, communicating with barely-there nods. He doesn’t finish dinner before going to bed, and he doesn’t shower. He might in the morning, but for now Ian can still smell the sun and grease, and a bit of sweat on him. Ian knows all of this because instead of lying on his part of bed he lies on top of the older man, covering him whole. Mickey tries to throw him off, but he is smaller, lighter, in an inconvenient position. And Ian uses that to nuzzle along the pale neck, inhale the scent he missed so much. His fingers dig into the hard biceps until the skin around them whitens, and the older man grunts in discomfort.  
He sits up, Mick’s hips between his thighs, shapely ass pressed against his groin. He grinds against it just once before he can stop himself, hips moving involuntarily, making his cock fatten in his briefs. Ian wants to selfishly _take_ , but it’s not about him this time, at least not entirely. From this position he sees Mickey’s whole pale back, and he admires the smooth skin. There aren’t any deep scars, just the expanse of flawless skin peppered with tiny, light freckles. He’s never noticed them before, but now he traces them with fingers, slowly sliding up and down the strong back. It turns into a massage of a sort, the older man’s body is tight and tense, so he takes his time rubbing him until Mickey’s shoulders start to relax. He can feel when the other man tries to fight it, tensing on purpose, but it’s a losing fight with Ian’s nimble fingers working on him relentlessly.   
“You are beautiful,” he whispers loud enough to be heard by the other man, but quiet enough not to disturb the otherwise silent room. That’s why he hears Mick’s breath hitch. “I always thought that but never had the balls to tell you that. But I told other people. About a boy who did so much for me, who was so gorgeous. About you.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the biggest gathering of freckles he can spot. The skin is salty under his tongue, and he wants to suck a bruise into the pale flesh. So he does, no longer restrained by what is right or wrong, white skin quickly turning bright red, he stops only when he is sure that there will be a bruise tomorrow.   
Mickey is slightly too thin, but it makes his ass look even more delectable, when Ian pulls down the tight, black briefs. The scar is still visible, and Ian has always thought it made Mick his. His fault, his mark, his man. It feels thick against his tongue, so he shifts his attention to the much more sensitive place, right between the cheeks.  
“No, no,” Mickey says softly, but Ian ignores him, tongue already applying pressure to the small opening. It doesn’t resist long, quickly allowing him to press deeper into Mick’s hot body. He can hear the older man’s breath picking up when his tongue slides against his soft walls, lips sealed to the hole. Mickey is shivering shamelessly, and Ian rewards him with one long finger, almost effortlessly finding a bundle of nerves that makes Mick whine. It’s been months, but he still knows how to give pleasure to his man. He feels proud, finger skillfully rubbing against prostate until Mickey’s legs fall open in an obvious invitation. He finds half-used strawberry flavoured lube in a nightstand, and he doesn’t let himself think about Jerome using it before him.   
“Don’t take too much,” the older man murmurs. They used to do it with spit only, but Ian knows better now. He still squeezes out as little as he can, to give Mickey the burn he craves. He decides on only two fingers to stretch the tight hole but does it so slowly that Mick’s hips start moving, making his ass jiggle enticingly. Ian is more than read to just slide in.  
“Use a condom.”   
He doesn’t want to. They never used them before. It wasn’t always the smartest move, but they both liked doing it bare. He still puts it on, when the condom lands next to his knee.  
Ian has to squeeze his eyes shut when his cockhead breaches the tight ring of muscles. He can’t breathe, the sensation too overwhelming. It never felt like this with Jason or anyone else, Mickey is still just for a second before he squeezes around a hard dick in his ass. Ian pulls out almost completely before slamming home, again and again, lost in his partner’s moans. He is gripping Mickey’s hips so hard that he can feel the bones moving under his fingers. He leans down to cover the other man again, their skin too hot and sticky with perspiration, it would be uncomfortable if he weren’t so aroused. As it is, he licks Mick’s reddened ear before letting out a stream of sweet, obscene promises. The older man turns his head to look at him, and Ian can finally kiss the plump, sin worthy lips. He tries to be gentle, but Mickey’s tongue meets his, and he is gone, swallowing every noise the other man makes while Ian pounds into him. He reaches for Mick’s dick which is hard and excessively leaking precome, is seems like he won’t need much. Ian’s free hand finds itself between their bodies, one finger pushing next to his cock into the already overstuffed hole. Mickey _keens_ , whole body tensing, and comes all over the bed. Ian can’t help but moan, the pressure around his cock almost too much. He pumps few more times before coming as well, teeth closing on Mick’s shoulder.  
He carefully eases out, and goes to the bathroom to get rid of the condom. He comes back with a damp towel to clean his partner’s body. Mick doesn’t react when Ian lies next to him.  
“I can’t hurt you anymore, but I can love you like he did.”  
Mickey lets out a choked laugh before pressing his face into Ian’s shoulder. He starts shaking after a while, and it takes Ian few seconds to realize that the older man is crying. Big, fat tears wetting his skin. It’s not how he wanted their second first time to end, but it’s not exactly unexpected. He hugs Mickey, trying to cover as much of the other man’s skin, sheltering him from the outside world.

He expects Mick to pretend that nothing happened, but Ian wakes up to the older man already deepthroating him. Pills make him dopey in the morning, which must be a reason why it took him so long to wake up. It must’ve been going on for a while judging from the way his dick feels, heavy and throbbing. Mick’s lips are pink and swollen, stretched to their limit. He starts humming, and Ian is gone, embarrassingly fast coming down Mickey’s throat.   
“Do you want me to return the favor?”  
“Finger me.”  
He does. When they are done the older man sits on Ian’s stomach, face void of emotion. For a while they simply stare at each other in silence.  
“J thought I still loved you. It made him angry.”  
“Was he right?”  
“I don’t know.”

***

Ian moves in. He doesn’t ask for permission. He leaves for work and then comes back with everything that was still left in the Gallagher house. Debbie pretends to be annoyed with him, but he thinks he sees her hiding a smile. She even helps him move some stuff into Mickey’s room. Because that’s where he decides to sleep. And Mickey doesn’t question it. He doesn’t exactly look happy with this new development, but he can easily throw the younger man out. Ian would go without a fight, he would go home with a tail between legs, if he had to. But Mick just stares at him with his baby blue eyes and lets Ian love his body whenever the redhead wants. Ian isn’t sure whether he is allowed to love Mickey yet, that’s something they don’t discuss.  
He finishes the course and almost immediately finds a job because he made right friends while studying. Mickey lets him do whatever he wants as a reward, and Ian fucks him face to face, long and slow, and tremendously gratifying. He is not offended when Mick cries afterwards.  
Every time he gets home from the eight hour shift, absolutely exhausted, there is always something to eat. When he is lucky he gets to eat with Debbie and Mickey, sometimes dinner is waiting for him in a fridge. He goes out with friends from work and doesn’t have to count money in his wallet, trying to decide whether he can afford two drinks or not. He doesn’t remember reaching this level of stability before. He had to get away from his family to finally see how toxic the previous environment was. They used to take pride in being close, but the truth is that they had the worst influence on one another. He could blame Monica or Frank, or Fiona, but in the end it doesn’t even matter. He does feel guilty about leaving Liam behind, but when he confesses it to Debbie she sighs as if he said something ridiculous. “He is not your responsibility. You are only responsible for your life. And maybe Mick’s, if he lets you,” she says. It doesn’t instantly make him feel better, but it’s a start. It’s not his only problem. There is nothing in the house that would remind him of his dead brother, yet it feels like Jerome is lurking in the shadows, watching his every step, waiting for him to fail again. Ian soldiers on, he is not going to let his sick brain defeat him, he finally knows that he is stronger than his disorder.  
He doesn’t exactly feel uneasy when he is alone, but he prefers someone else to be there with him. Just in case. Jerome was the one who bought the house, and Ian knows that he will stay there no matter what, but sometimes he wishes he didn’t have to. Mickey put everything away, but he didn’t throw anything out, and Ian sometimes catches him in the spare room, staring at boxes, never touching everything. He wants to crawl inside Mick’s brain to learn every little detail, but his… friend never mentions Jerome anymore.  
He starts to buy things to put around the house to make it his. They aren’t expensive, but at least they are new. After years of being dirt poor he never wants to see a used thing again. “But I am used,” Mickey says half-jokingly when Ian tells him. It triggers their first real fight after Jerome’s death and, ironically, it makes Ian feel loved. They go to a bar that night, reliving their old days, and end up fighting some guys who think they can take on two fags. They can’t, but Ian has a split lip anyway, and Mickey limps home.  
The next day he gets a new nightstand. He doesn’t know how to replace the old one with it since he doesn’t want Mick to notice that he is removing Jerome from their lives. So it sits in a corner for a few days until Ian finds a right spot for it. When he pulls out a drawer there is a scrap of paper inside which says ‘be good’ in a chicken scratch. He doesn’t remember it being there before, but then again his memory isn’t always best.

 

 

 

*Yes, Ian thought it would be unfair to tell Mickey, but he was still mostly asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Things you need to know:  
> a) I have not seen Gotham, and of course J. has to be older than Ian  
> b) I'm completely making Jason up because of reasons  
> c) I made myself cry with this because...  
> d) right now Gallavich makes me depressed.


End file.
